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THE 


ABBE CONSTANTIN 


BY 

LUDOVIC HALEVY 

OF THE FRENCH ACADEMY 



NEW YORK 

HOME BOOK COMPANY 
45 Vesey Street 


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THE ABBE CONSTANTIN. 


CHAPTER I. 

With a step still valiant and firm an old 
priest walked along the dusty road in the full 
rays of a brilliant sun. For more than thirty 
years the Abbd Constantin had been Cure of 
the little village which slept there in the plain, 
on the banks of a slender stream called La 
Lizotte. 

The Abbe Constantin was walking by the 
wall which surrounded the park of the castle 
of Longueval ; at last he reached the entrance 
gate, which rested high and massive on two 
ancient pillars of stone, enbrowned and gnawed 
by time. The Cure stopped, and mournfully 
regarded two immense blue posters fixed on 
the pillars. 

The posters announced that on Wednesday, 
May 1 8 , i88i, at one o’clock p. m., would 


4 


take place, before the Civil Tribunal of Sou- 
vigny, the sale of the domain of Longueval, 
divided into four lots. 

I St. The castle of Longueval, its depend- 
encies, fine pieces of water, extensive offices, 
park of one hundred and fifty hectares in ex- 
tent, completely surrounded by a wall, and 
traversed by the little river Lizotte. Valued 
at six hundred thousand francs. 

2d. The farm of Blanche-Couronne, three 
hundred hectares, valued at five hundred 
thousand francs. 

3d. The farm of La Rozeraie, two hundred 
and fifty hectares, valued at four hundred 
thousand francs. 

4th. The woods and forests of La Mionne, 
containing four hundred and fifty hectares, 
valued at five hundred and fifty thousand 
francs. 

And these four amounts added altogether at 
the foot of the bill gave the respectable sum 
of two millions and fifty thousand francs. 

Then they were really going to dismember 
this magnificent domain, which, escaping all 
mutilation, had for more than two centuries 
always been transmitted intact from father to 
son in the family of Longueval. The placards 


5 


also announced that after the temporary 
division into four lots, it would be possible 
to unite them again, and offer for sale the 
entire domain, but it was a very large morsel, 
and to all appearance no purchaser would pre- 
sent himself. 

The Marquise de Longueval had died six 
months before ; in 1873 she had lost her only 
son, Robert de Longueval ; the three heirs 
were the grandchildren of the Marquise, — 
Pierre Helene, and Camille. It had been 
found necessary to offer the domain for sale, 
as H^Rne and Camille were minors. Pierre, 
a young man of three and twenty, had lived 
rather fast, was already half ruined, and could 
not hope to redeem Longueval. 

It was midday. In an hour it would have 
a new master, this old castle of Longueval ; 
and this master, who would he be? What 
woman would take the place of the old Mar- 
quise in the chimney corner of the grand salon, 
all adorned with ancient tapestry ? — the old 
Marquise, the friend of the old priest. It was 
she who had restored the church ; it was she 
who had established and furnished a complete 
dispensary at the vicarage under the care of 
Pauline, the Cure’s servant ; it was she who. 


6 


twice a week, in her great barouche, all crowded 
with little children’s clothes and thick woollen 
petticoats, came to fetch the Abbd Constantin 
to make with him what she called “ la chasse 
aux pauvres.” 

The old priest continued his walk, musing 
over all this; — then he thought too — the 
greatest saints have their little weaknesses — 
he thought too of the beloved habits of thirty- 
years thus rudely interrupted. Every Thursday 
and every Sunday he had dined at the castle. 
How he had been petted, coaxed, indulged ! 
Little Camille — she was eight years old — 
would come and sit on his knee and say to 
him : 

“ You know. Monsieur le Curd, it is in your 
church that I mean to be married, and grand- 
mamma will send such heaps of flowers to fill, 
quite fill the church — more than for the month 
of Mary. It will be like a little garden — all 
white, all white, all white 1 ” 

The month of Mary ! It was then the 
month of Mary. Formerly at this season the 
altar disappeared under the flowers brought 
from the conservatories of Longueval. None 
this year were on the altar, except a few bou- 
quets of lily-of-the-valley and white lilacs in 


7 


gilded china vases. Formerly, every Sunday 
at high mass, and every evening during the 
month of Mary, Mademoiselle Hebert, the 
reader to Madame de Longueval, played the 
harmonium given by the Marquise. Now the 
poor harmonium, reduced to silence, no longer 
accompanied the voices of the choir or the 
children’s hymns. Mademoiselle Marbeau, 
the post-mistress, would with all her heart 
have taken the place of Mademoiselle Hebert, 
hut she dared not, though she was a little 
musical. She was afraid of being remarked as 
of the clerical party, and denounced by the 
Mayor, who was a Freethinker. That might 
have been injurious to her interests, and pre- 
vented her promotion. 

He had nearly reached the end of the wall 
of the park, that park of which every corner 
was known to the old priest. The road now 
followed the banks of the Lizotte, and on the 
other side of the little stream stretched the 
fields belonging to the two farms ; then, still 
farther off, rose the dark woods of La Mionne. 

Divided ! The domain was going to be 
divided ! The heart of the poor priest was 
rent by this bitter thought. All that for thirty 
years had been inseparable, indivisible, to him. 


8 


It was a little his own, his very own, his estate, 
his great property. He felt at home on the 
lands of Longueval. It had happened more 
than once that he had stopped complacently 
before an immense cornfield, plucked an ear, 
removed the husk, and said to himself : 

“ Come ! the grain is fine, firm, and sound. 
This year we shall have a good harvest ! ” 

And with a joyous heart he would continue 
his way through his fields, his meadows, his 
pastures ; in short, by every chord of his heart, 
by every tie of his life, by all his habits, his 
memories, he clung to this domain whose last 
hour had come. 

The Abbd perceived in the distance the farm 
of Blanche-Couronne ; its red-tiled roofs 
showed distinctly against the verdure of the 
forest. There, again, the Curd was at home. 
Bernard, the farmer of the Marquise, was his 
friend, and when the old priest was delayed 
in his visits to the poor and sick, when the sun 
was sinking below the horizon, and the Abbd 
began to feel a little fatigue in his limbs, and 
a sensation of exhaustion in his stomach, he 
stopped and supped with Bernard, regaled him- 
self with a savory stew and potatoes, and 
emptied his pitcher of cider ; then, after sup- 


9 


per, the farmer harnessed his old black mare 
to his cart and took the vicar back to Lon- 
gueval. The whole distance they chatted and 
quarrelled. The Abbe reproached the farmer 
with not going to mass, and the latter replied : 

“ The wife and the girls go for me. You 
know very well. Monsieur le Cure, that is how 
it is with us. The women have enough religion 
for the men. They will open the gates of 
Paradise for us.” 

And he added maliciously, while giving a 
touch of the whip to his old black mare : 

“ If there is one } ” 

The Cure sprang from his seat. 

“ What ! if there is one ! Of a certainty 
there is one.” 

“ Then you will be there. Monsieur le Cure. 
You say that is not certain, and I say it is. 
You will be there, you will be there, at the 
gate, on the watch for your parishioners, and 
still busy with their little affairs ; and you will 
say to St. Peter — for it is St. Peter, is n’t it, 
who keeps the keys of Paradise ? ” 

“ It is St. Peter.” 

“ Well, you will say to him, to St. Peter, if 
he wants to shut the door in my face under 
the pretence that I did not go to mass, you 


will say to him, ‘ Bah ! let him in all the same. 
It is Bernard, one of the farmers of Madame 
ia Marquise, an honest man. He was Com- 
mon Councilman, and he voted for the main- 
tenance of the sisters when they were going 
to be expelled from the village school.’ That 
will touch St. Peter, who will answer, ‘ Well, 
well, you may pass, Bernard, but it is only to 
please Monsieur le Curd.’ For you will be 
Monsieur le Cure up there, and Cure of Lon- 
gueval too, for Paradise itself would be dull 
for you if you must give up being Cure of 
Longueval.” 

Curd of Longueval ! Yes, all his life he had 
been nothing but Curd of Longueval, had 
never dreamed of anything else, and never 
wished to be anything else. Three or four 
times excellent livings, with one or two curates, 
had been offered to him, but he had always 
refused them. He had loved his little church, 
his little village, his little vicarage. There he 
had it all to himself, saw to everything himself ; 
calm, tranquil, he went and came, summer and 
winter, in sunshine or storm, in wind or rain. 
His frame became hardened by fatigue and 
exposure, but his soul remained gentle, tender, 
and pure. 


II 


©hie 

He lived in his vicarage, which was only a 
laborer’s cottage separated from the church 
by the church-yard. When the Cure mounted 
the ladder to train his pear and peach 
trees, over the top of the wall he perceived 
the graves over which he had said the last 
prayer, and cast the first spadeful of earth. 
Then, while continuing his work, he said in 
his heart a little prayer for the repose of those 
among his dead whose fate disturbed him, and 
who might be still detained in purgatory. He 
had a tranquil and childlike faith. 

But among these graves there was one which 
oftener than all the others received his visits 
and his prayers. It was the tomb of his old 
friend Dr. Reynaud, who had died in his arms 
in 1871, and under what circumstances ! The 
doctor had been like Bernard ; he never went 
to mass or to confession ; but he was so good, 
so charitable, so compassionate to the suffer- 
ing. This was the cause of the Cure’s great 
anxiety, of his great solicitude. His friend 
Reynaud, where was he? Where was he? 
Then he called to mind the noble life of the 
country doctor, all made up of courage and 
self-denial ; he recalled his death, above all 
his death, and said to himself : 


12 


“ In Paradise ; he can be nowhere but in 
Paradise. The good God may have sent him 
to purgatory just for form’s sake — but He 
must have delivered him after five minutes.” 

All this passed through the mind of the old 
man, as he continued his walk towards Sou- 
vigny. He was going to the town, to the solicitor 
of the Marquise, to inquire the result of the 
sale, to learn who were to be the new masters 
of the castle of Longueval. The Abbd had 
still about a mile to walk before reaching the 
first houses of Souvigny, and was passing the 
park of Lavardens, when he heard above his 
head voices calling to him. 

“ Monsieur le Curd, Monsieur le Curd.” 

At this spot adjoining the wall, a long alley 
of lime-trees bordered the terrace, and the 
Abbd, raising his head, perceived Madame de 
Lavardens and her son Paul. 

“ Where are you going. Monsieur le Curd ? ” 
asked the Countess. 

“ To Souvigny, to the Tribunal to learn ” 

“ Stay here — Monsieur de Larnac is coming 
after the sale, to tell me the result.” 

The Abbd Constantin joined them on the 
terrace. 

Gertrude de Lannilis, Countess de Lavar- 


13 


dens, had been very unfortunate. At eighteen, 
she had been guilty of a folly, the only one of 
her life, but that one — irreparable. She had 
married for love, in a burst of enthusiasm and 
exaltation, M. de Lavardens, one of the most 
fascinating and brilliant men of his time. He 
did not love her, and only married from neces- 
sity. He had devoured his patrimonial fortune 
to the very last farthing, and for two or three 
years had supported himself by various ex- 
pedients. Mademoiselle de Lannilis knew all 
that, and had no illusions on these points, but 
she said to herself : 

“ I will love him so much, that he will end 
by loving me.’^ 

Hence all her misfortunes. Her existence 
might have been tolerable if she had not loved 
her husband so much, but she loved him too 
much. She had only suceeded in wearying 
him by her importunities and tenderness. 
He returned to his former life, which had 
been most irregular. Fifteen years had passed 
thus, in a long martyrdom, supported by 
Madame de Lavardens with all the appearance 
of passive resignation. Nothing ever could 
distract her from, or cure her of, the love 
which was destroying her. 


14 


M. de Lavardens died in 1869. He left a 
son fourteen years of age, in whom were al- 
ready visible all the defects and all the good 
qualities of his father. Without being seri- 
ously affected, the fortune of Madame de 
Lavardens was slightly compromised, slightly 
diminished. Madame de Lavardens sold her 
mansion in Paris, retired to the country, where 
she lived with strict economy, and devoted 
herself to the education of her son. 

But here again grief and disappointment 
awaited her. Paul de Lavardens was intel- 
ligent, amiable, and affectionate, but thoroughly 
rebellious against any constraint and any 
species of work. He drove to despair three 
or four tutors, who vainly endeavored to force 
something serious into his head, went up to 
the Military College of Saint-Cyr, failed at 
the examination, and began to devour in Paris, 
with all the haste and folly possible, two or 
three hundred thousand francs. 

That done, he enlisted in the first regiment 
of the Chasseurs d’ Afrique, and in the very be- 
ginning of his military career had the good fort- 
une to make one of an expeditionary column 
sent into the Sahara, distinguished himself, soon 
became quartermaster, and at the end of three 


15 


years was about to be appointed sub-lieutenant 
when he was captivated by a young person 
who played the “ Fille de Madame Angot ” at 
the theatre in Algiers. 

Paul had finished his time ; he quitted the 
service, and went to Paris with his charmer. 
. . . Then it was a dancer. . . . Then 

it was an actress. . . . Then a circus- 

rider. He tried life in every form. He led 
the brilliant and miserable existence of the 
unoccupied. 

But it was only three or four months that 
he passed in Paris each year. His mother 
made him an allowance of thirty thousand 
francs, and had declared to him, that never, 
while she lived, should he have another penny 
before his marriage. He knew his mother ; he 
knew he must consider her words as serious. 
Thus, wishing to make a good figure in Paris, 
and lead a merry life, he spent his thirty thou- 
sand francs in three months, and then do- 
cilely returned to Lavardens, where he was 
‘‘ out at grass.” He spent his time hunt- 
ing, fishing, and riding with the officers of 
the artillery regiment quartered at Souvigny. 
The little provincial milliners and “ grisettes ” 
replaced, without rendering him oblivious of, 


1 6 

the little singers and actresses of Paris. By 
searching for them, one may still find grisettes 
in country towns, and Paul de Lavardens 
sought assiduously. 

As soon as the Cure had reached Madame 
de Lavardens, she said : 

“ Without waiting for M. de Larnac, I can 
tell you the names of the purchasers of the 
domain of Longueval. I am quite easy on 
the subject, and have no doubt of the success 
of our plan. In order to avoid any foolish 
disputes, we have agreed amongst ourselves ; 
that is, between our neighbor M. de Larnac, 
M. Gallard, a great Parisian banker, and my- 
self. M. de Larnac will have La Mionne, M. 
Gallard the castle and Blanche-Couronne, and 
I — La Rozeraie. I know you, Monsieur le 
Curd, — you will be anxious about your poor ; 
but comfort yourself. These Gallards are rich, 
and will give you plenty of money.” 

At this moment a cloud of dust appeared 
on the road, from it emerged a carriage. 

“ Here comes M. de Larnac ! ” cried Paul ; 

I know his ponies ! ” 

All three hurriedly descended from the ter- 
race and returned to the castle. They arrived 


(SJoniSitatttitt* 17 

there just as M. de Larnac’s carriage drove up 
to the entrance. 

“Well ? ” asked Madame de Lavardens. 

“ Well ! ” replied M. de Larnac, “ we have 
nothing.” 

“ What ? Nothing ? ” cried Madame de 
Lavardens, very pale and agitated. 

“Nothing, nothing; absolutely nothing — 
the one or the other of us.” 

And M. de Larnac, springing from his car- 
riage, related what had taken place at the sale 
before the Tribunal of Souvigny. 

“ At first,” he said, “ everything went upon 
wheels. The castle went to M. Gallard for 
six hundred and fifty thousand francs. No 
competitor — a rise of fifty francs had been 
sufficient. On the other hand, there was a 
little battle for Blanche-Couronne. The bids 
rose from five hundred thousand francs, to five 
hundred and twenty thousand francs, and again 
M. Gallard was victorious. Another and 
more animated battle for La Rozeraie ; at las> 
it was knocked down to you, Madame, for 
four hundred and fifty-five thousand francs. 
. . . I got the forest of La Mionne without 

opposition at a rise of one hundred francs. 
All seemed over, those present had risen, our 
2 


1 8 

solicitors were surrounded with persons asking 
the names of the purchasers. 

“ M. Brazier, the judge intrusted with the 
sale, desired silence, and the bailiff of the 
court offered the four lots together for two 
million one hundred and fifty or sixty thousand 
francs, I don’t remember which. A murmur 
passed through the assembly. ‘ No one will 
bid ’ was heard on all sides. But little Gibert, 
the solicitor, who was seated in the first row, 
and till then had given no sign of life, rose 
and said calmly, ‘ I have a purchaser for the 
four lots together at two millions two hundred 
thousand francs.’ This was like a thunderbolt. 
A tremendous clamor arose, followed by a 
dead silence. The hall was filled with farm- 
ers and laborers from the neighborhood. 
Two million francs ! So much money for the 
land threw them into a sort of respectful stu- 
por. However, M. Gallard bending towards 
Sandrier, the solicitor who had bid for him, 
whispered something in his ear. The strug- 
gle began between Gibert and Sandrier. The 
bids rose to two millions five hundred thousand 
francs. M. Gallard hesitated for a moment — 
decided — continued up to three millions. 
Then he stopped and the whole went to Gibert. 


Every one rushed on him, they surrounded — 
they crushed him, ‘ The name, the name of the 
purchaser ? ’ — ‘ It is an American,’ replied 
Gibert, ‘ Mrs. Scott.’ ” 

“ Mrs. Scott ! ” cried Paul de Lavardens. 

“You know her?” asked Madame de 
Lavardens. 

“ Do I know her ? ” — do I — not at all. But 
I was at a ball at her house six weeks ago.” 

“ At a ball at her house ! and you don’t 
know her ? What sort of a woman is she, 
then?” 

“ Charming, delightful, ideal, a miracle ! ” 

“ And is there a Mr. Scott ? ” 

“ Certainly, a tall, fair man. He was at her 
ball, they pointed him out to me. He bowed 
at random right and left. He was not much 
amused, I will answer for it. He looked at 
us as if he were thinking, ‘ Who are all these 
people ? What are they doing at my house ? ’ 
We went to see Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival, 
her sister. And certainly it was well worth 
the trouble.” 

“ These Scotts,” said Madame de Lavar- 
dens, addressing M. de Larnac, “ do you know 
who they are ? ” 

“ Yes, Madame, I know. Mr. Scott is an 


20 


American, possessing a colossal fortune, who 
settled himself in Paris last year. As soon as 
their name was mentioned, I understood that 
the victory had never been doubtful. Gallard 
was beaten beforehand. The Scotts began 
by buying a house in Paris for two million 
francs ; it is near the Parc Monceau.’’ 

“Yes, Rue Murillo,” said Paul; “I tell you 
I went to a ball there. It was ” — 

“ Let M. de Larnac speak. You can tell us 
presently about the ball at Mrs. Scott’s.” 

“Well, now, imagine my Americans estab- 
lished in Paris,” continued M. de Larnac, 
“ and the showers of gold begun. In the 
orthodox parvenu style they amuse themselves 
with throwing handfuls of gold out of window. 
Their great wealth is quite recent, they say ; 
ten years ago Mrs. Scott begged in the streets 
of New York.’ 

“ Begged ! ” 

“ They say so. Then she married this 
Scott, the son of a New York banker, and all at 
once a successful lawsuit put into their hands 
not millions, but tens of millions. Somewhere 
in America they have a silver mine, but a gen- 
uine mine, a real mine — a mine with silver in 
it. Ah ! we shall see what luxury will reign 




21 


at Longueval ! We shall all look like paupers 
beside them ! It is said that they have one 
hundred thousand francs a day to spend.” 

“ Such are our neighbors ! ” cried Madame 
de Lavardens. “An adventuress! and that 
is the least of it — a heretic, Monsieur TAbbe, 
a Protestant ! ” 

A heretic ! a Protestant 1 Poor Curd ; it 
was indeed that of which he had immediately 
thought on hearing the words, “ An American, 
Mrs. Scott.” The new chatelaine of Longue- 
val would not go to mass. What did it matter 
to him that she had been a beggar? What 
did it matter to him if she possessed her tens 
and tens of millions ? She was not a Catholic. 
He would never again baptize children born 
at Longueval ; and the chapel in the castle, 
where he had so often said mass, would be 
transformed into a Protestant oratory, which 
would echo only the frigid utterances of a 
Calvinistic or Lutheran pastor. 

Every one was distressed, disappointed, 
overwhelmed ; but in the midst of the general 
depression Paul stood radiant. 

“ A charming heretic, at all events,” said he, 
“ or rather two charming heretics. You should 
see the two sisters on horseback in the Bois, 


22 

with two little grooms behind them not higher 
than that.” 

“Come, Paul, tell us all you know. De- 
scribe the ball of which you speak. How 
did you happen to go to a ball at these 
Americans ? ’ ” 

“ By the greatest chance. My aunt Valen- 
tine was at home that night ; I looked in about 
ten o’clock. Well, aunt Valentine’s Wednes- 
days are not exactly scenes of wild enjoyment, 
give you my word ! I had been there about 
twenty minutes when I caught sight of Roger 
de Puymartin escaping furtively. I caught 
him in the hall, and said : 

“ ‘ We will go home together.’ 

“ ‘ Oh ! I am not going home.’ 

“ * Where are you going ? ’ 

“ ‘ To the ball.’ 

“ ‘ Where ? ’ 

“ ‘ At Mrs. Scott’s. Will you come ? 

“ ‘ But I have not been invited.’ 

“ ‘ Neither have I.’ 

“ ‘ What ! not invited ? ” 

“ ‘ No. I am going with one of my friends.’ 

“ ‘ And does your friend know them ? ’ 

“ ‘ Scarcely ; but enough to introduce us. 
Come along ; you will see Mrs. Scott.’ 


“ * Oh ! I have seen her, on horseback in 
the Bois.’ 

“ ‘ But she does not wear a low gown on 
horseback ; you have not seen her shoulders, 
and they are shoulders which ought to be 
seen. There is nothing better in Paris at 
this moment.’ 

“ And I went to the ball, and I saw Mrs. 
Scott’s red hair, and I saw Mrs. Scott’s white 
shoulders, and I hope to see them again when 
there are balls at Longueval.” 

“ Paul ! ” said Madame de Lavardens, point- 
ing to the Abbd. 

“ Oh ! Monseiur I’Abb^, I beg a thousand 
pardons. 

Have I said anything ? It seems to me — ” 

The poor old priest had heard nothing ; his 
thoughts were elsewhere. Already he saw, in 
the village streets, the Protestant pastor from 
the castle stopping before each house, and 
slipping under the doors little evangelical tracts. 

Continuing his account, Paul launched into 
an enthusiastic description of the mansion, 
which was a marvel — 

“ Of bad taste and ostentation,” interrupted 
Madame de Lavardens. 

“ Not at all, mother, not at all ; nothing 


24 


startling, nothing loud. It is admirably fur- 
nished, everything done with elegance and 
originality. An incomparable conservatory, 
flooded with electric light; the buffet was 
placed in the conservatory under a vine laden 
with grapes, which one could gather by handfuls, 
and in the month of April ! The accessories 
of the cotillon cost, it appears, more than forty 
thousand francs. Ornaments, bonbonnibres, 
delicious trifles, and we were begged to accept 
them. For my part I took nothing, but there 
were many who made no scruple. That even- 
ing Puymartin told me Mrs. Scott’s history, 
but it was not at all like M. de Larnac’s story. 
Roger said that, when quite little, Mrs. Scott 
had been stolen from her family by some acro- 
bats, and that her father had found her in a 
travelling circus, riding on bare-backed horses 
and jumping through paper hoops.” 

“ A circus-rider ! ” cried Madame de Lavar- 
dens ; “ I should have preferred the beggar.” 

“ And while Roger was telling me this Petit 
Journal romance, I saw approaching from the 
end of a gallery a wonderful cloud of lace and 
satin ; it surrounded this rider from a wander- 
ing circus, and I admired those shoulders, 
those dazzling shoulders, on which undulated 


2 $ 


©Itie giljflje 

a necklace of diamonds as big as the stopper 
of a decanter. They say that the Minister of 
Finance had sold secretly to Mrs. Scott half 
the crown diamonds, and that that was how, 
the month before, he had been able to show a 
surplus of fifteen hundred thousand francs in 
the budget. Add to all this that the little 
acrobat had an air of good breeding, and 
seemed perfectly at home in the midst of all 
this splendor.” 

Paul was going so far that his mother was 
obliged to stop him. Before M. de Larnac, 
who was excessively annoyed and disappointed, 
he showed too plainly his delight at the pros- 
pect of having this marvellous American for 
a near neighbor. 

The Abbe Constantin was preparing to re- 
turn to Longueval, but Paul, seeing him ready 
to start, said : 

“ No ! no ! Monsieur le Curd, you must not 
think of walking back to Longueval in the 
heat of the day. Allow me to drive you home. 
I am really grieved to see you so cast down, 
and will try my best to amuse you. Oh ! if 
you were ten times a saint I would make you 
laugh at my stories.” 

And half an hour after, the two — the Curd 


26 


©toe g^totoe 

and Paul — drove side by side in the direction 
of the village. Paul talked, talked, talked. 
His mother was not there to check or moderate 
his transports, and his joy was overflowing. 

“ Now, look here. Monsieur I’Abbe, you are 
wrong to take things in this tragic manner. 
, . . Stay, look at my little mare, how well 
she trots ! what good action she has ! You 
have not seen her before ? What do you think 
I paid for her? Four hundred francs. I dis- 
covered her a fortnight ago, between the shafts 
of a market-gardener’s cart. She is a treasure. 
I assure you she can do sixteen miles an hour, 
and keep one’s hands full all the time. Just 
see how she pulls. Come, tot, tot, tot ! You 
are not in a hurry. Monsieur I’Abb^, I hope. 
Let us return through the wood ; the fresh air 
will do you good. Oh, Monsieur I’Abb^, if 
you only knew what a regard I have for you, 
and respect too ! I did not talk too much 
nonsense before you just now, did I ? I should 
be so sorry — ” 

“ No, my child, I heard nothing.” 

“ Well, we will take the longest way round.” 

After having turned to the left in the wood, 
Paul resumed his subject. 

“ I was saying. Monsieur I’Abbd,” he went 


27 


on, “ that you are wrong to take things so seri- 
ously. Shall I tell you what I think ? This, 
is a very fortunate affair.’^ 

“ Very fortunate ? ” 

“ Yes, very fortunate. I would rather see 
the Scotts at Longueval than the Gallards. Did 
you not hear Monsieur de Larnac reproach 
these Americans with spending their money 
foolishly. It is never foolish to spend money. 
The folly lies in keeping it. Your poor — for 
I am perfectly sure that it is your poor of 
whom you are thinking — your poor have made 
a good thing of it to-day. That is my opinion. 
The religion ? Well, they will not go to mass, 
and that will be a grief to you, that is only 
natural ; but they will send you money, plenty 
of money, and you will take it, and you will 
be quite right in doing so. You will see that 
you will not say no. There will be gold rain- 
ing over the whole place; a movement, a 
bustle, carriages with four horses, postillions, 
powdered footmen, paper chases, hunting- 
parties, balls, fireworks, and here in this very 
spot I shall perhaps find Paris again before 
long. I shall see once more the two riders 
and the two little grooms of whom I was speak- 
ing just now. If you only knew how well those 


28 


©he gihhe ©0tt!Sitantiw* 

two sisters look on horseback ! One morning 
I went right round the Bois de Boulogne be- 
hind them ; I fancy I can see them still. They 
had high hats, and little black veils drawn very 
tightly over their faces, and long riding-habits 
made in the princess form, with a single seam 
right down the back ; and a woman must be 
awfully well made to wear a riding-habit like 
that, because, you see. Monsieur TAbbd, with a 
habit of that cut there is no deception possible.” 

For some moments the Cure had not been 
listening to Paul’s discourse. They had 
entered a long, perfectly straight avenue, and 
at the end of this avenue the Cur^ saw a horse- 
man galloping along. 

“ Look,” said the Cure to Paul, “ your eyes 
are better than mine ; is not that Jean ? ” 

“ Yes, it is Jean. I know his gray mare.” 

Paul loved horses, and before looking at the 
rider looked at the horse. It was indeed Jean, 
who, when he saw in the distance the Curd and 
Paul de Lavardens, waved in the air his kepi, 
adorned with two golden stripes. Jean was 
lieutenant in the regiment of artillery quartered 
at Souvigny. 

Some moments after he stopped by the little 
carriage, and, addressing the Cure, said : 


29 


“I have just been to your house, mon par- 
ram. Pauline told me that you had gone to 
Souvigny about the sale. Well, who has 
bought the castle ? ” 

“An American — Mrs. Scott.’^ 

“ And Blanche-Couronne ? ” 

“ The same Mrs. Scott.” 

“ And La Rozeraie 'i ” 

“ Mrs. Scott again.” 

“ And the forest ? Mrs. Scott again ? ” 

“ You have said it,” replied Paul ; “ and I 
know Mrs. Scott, and I can promise you that 
there will be something going on at Longueval. 
I will introduce you. Only it is distressing to 
Monsieur TAbb^ because she is an American 
— a Protestant.” 

“ Ah ! that is true,” said Jean, sympathiz- 
ingly. “ However, we will talk about it to- 
morrow. I am going to dine with you, god- 
father ; I have warned Pauline of my visit ; 
no time to stop to-day. I am on duty, and 
must be in quarters at three o’clock.” 

“ Stables ? ” asked Paul. 

“Yes. Good-by, Paul. To-morrow, god- 
father.” 

The lieutenant galloped away. Paul de 
Lavardens gave his little horse her head. 


30 

“ What a capital fellow Jean is ! ” said 
Paul. 

“ Oh, yes, indeed.’^ 

“There is no one on earth better than 
Jean.” 

“ No, no one.” 

The Cur^ turned round to take another look 
at Jean, who was almost lost in the depths of 
the forest. 

“ Oh, yes, there is, — you, Monsieur le Cur^.” 

“ No, not I ! not I ! ” 

“ Well, Monsieur I’Abbe, shall I tell you 
what I think ? — I think there is no one better 
than you two — you and Jean. That is the 
truth, if I must tell you. Oh, what a splendid 
place for a trot ! I shall let Niniche go ; I 
call her Niniche.” 

With the tip of his whip Paul caressed the 
flank of Niniche, who started off at full speed, 
and Paul, delighted, cried : 

“Just look at her action. Monsieur TAbb^! 
Just look at her action ! So regular — just like 
clock-work. Lean over and look.” 

To please Paul de Lavardens the Abbd Con- 
stantin did lean over and look at Niniche’s 
action, but the old priest’s thoughts were far 
away. 


®li-e 


31 


CHAPTER II. 

This sub-lieutenant of artillery was called 
Jean Reynaud. He was the son of a country 
doctor who lay in the churchyard of Lon- 
gueval. 

In 1846, when the Abb^ Constantin took 
possession of his little living, the grandfather 
of Jean was residing in a pleasant cottage on 
the road to Souvigny, between the castles of 
Longueval and Lavardens. 

Marcel, the son of that Dr. Reynaud, was 
finishing his medical studies in Paris. He 
possessed great industry, and an elevation of 
sentiment and mind extremely rare. He 
passed his examinations with great distinction, 
and had decided to fix his abode in Paris and 
tempt fortune there ; and everything seemed 
to promise him the most prosperous and 
brilliant career, when in 1852 he received the 
news of his father’s death — he had been struck 
down by a fit of apoplexy. Marcel hurried 
to Longueval overwhelmed with grief, for he 
adored his father. He spent a month with his 


32 


mother, and then spoke of the necessity of 
returning to Paris. 

“ That is true,” said his mother ; “ you 
must go.” 

** What ! I must go ! JVe must go, you 
mean. Do you think that I would leave you 
here alone ? I shall take you with me.” 

“ To live in Paris ? to leave the place where 
I was born, where your father lived, where he 
died ? I could never do it, my child, never ! 
Go alone ; your life, your future, are there. I 
know you ; I know that you will never forget 
me, that you will come and see me often, very 
often.” 

“No, mother,” he answered; “I will stay 
here.” 

And he stayed. 

His hopes, his ambitions, all in one moment 
vanished. He saw only one thing — duty — the 
duty of not abandoning his aged mother. In 
this duty, simply accepted and simply dis- 
charged, he found happiness. After all, it is 
only thus that one does find happiness. 

Marcel bowed with courage and good grace 
to his new existence. He continued his 
father’s life, entering the groove at the very 
spot where he had left it. He devoted him- 


33 


©tie 

self without regret to the obscure career of a 
country doctor. His father had left him a 
little land and a little money ; he lived in the 
simplest manner possible, and one-half of his 
life belonged to the poor, from whom he would 
never receive a penny. 

This was his only luxury. 

He found in his way a young girl, charming, 
penniless, and alone in the world. He mar- 
ried her. This was in 1855, and the following 
year brought to Dr. Reynaud a great sorrow 
and a great joy, — the death of his old mother 
and the birth of his son Jean. 

At an interval of six weeks, the Abbd Con- 
stantin recited the prayers for the dead over 
the grave of the grandmother, and was present 
in the position of godfather at the baptism of 
the grandson. 

In consequence of constantly meeting at 
the bedside of the suffering and dying, the 
priest and the doctor had been strongly attract- 
ed to each other. They instinctively felt that 
they belonged to the same family, the same 
race, — the race of the tender, the just, and the 
benevolent. 

Year followed year — calm, peaceful, fully 
occupied in labor and duty. Jean was no 
3 


34 

longer a child. His father gave him his first 
lessons in reading and writing, the priest his 
first lessons in Latin. Jean was intelligent 
and industrious. He made so much progress 
that the two teachers — particularly the Curd — 
found themselves at the end of a few years 
rather cast into the shade by their pupil. It 
was at this moment that the Countess, after the 
death of her husband, came to settle at Lavar- 
dens. She brought with her a tutor for her 
son Paul, who was a very nice but very lazy 
little fellow. The two children were of the 
same age ; they had known each other from 
their earliest years. 

Madame de Lavardens had a great regard 
for Dr. Reynaud, and one day she made him 
the following proposal : 

“ Send Jean to me every morning,” said 
she ; “ I will send him home in the evening. 
Paul’s tutor is a very accomplished man ; he 
will make the children work together. It will 
be rendering me a real service. Jean will set 
Paul a good example.” 

Things were thus arranged, and the little 
bourgeois set the little nobleman a most excel- 
lent example of industry and application ; but 
this excellent example was not followed. 


35 


The war broke out. On November 14, at 
seven o’clock in the morning, the “Reserves” 
of Souvigny assembled in the great square of 
the town ; their chaplain was the Abbd Con- 
stantin, their surgeon-major Dr. Reynaud. 
The same idea had come at the same moment 
to both, the priest was sixty-two, the doctor 
fifty. 

When they started, the battalion followed the 
road which led through Longueval, and passed 
before the doctor’s house. Madame Reynaud. 
and Jean were waiting by the roadside. 

The child threw himself into his father’s 
arms. 

“ Take me too, papa ! take me too 1 ” 

Madame Reynaud wept. The doctor held 
them both in a long embrace ; then he con- 
tinued his way. 

A hundred steps farther the road made a 
sharp curve. The doctor turned, cast one 
long look at his wife and child — the last ; he 
was never to see them again. 

On January 8, 1871, the troops of Souvigny 
attacked the village of Villersexel, occupied by 
the Prussians, who had barricaded themselves. 
The firing began. A soldier who marched in 
the front rank received a ball in the chest and 


36 Wkt 

fell. There was a short moment of trouble 
and hesitation. 

“ Forward ! forward ! ” shouted the officers. 

The men passed over the body of their com- 
rade, and under a hail of bullets entered the 
town. 

Dr. Reynaud and the Abbd Constantin, 
marched with the troops ; they halted near the 
wounded man ; the blood was rushing in floods 
from his mouth. 

“ There is nothing to be done, ’’ said the 
doctor. “ He is dying ; he belongs to you. ” 

The priest knelt down by the dying man, and 
the doctor rose to go towards the village. He 
had not taken ten steps when he stopped, 
beat the air with both hands, and fell all at once 
to the ground. The priest ran to him ; he was 
dead — killed on the spot by a bullet through 
the temples. That evening the village was 
ours, and the next day they placed in the cem- 
etry of Villersexel the body of Dr. Reynaud. 

Two months later the Abbe Constantin took 
back to Longueval the coffin of his friend, and 
behind the coffin when it was carried from 
the church walked an orphan. Jean had also 
lost his mother. At the news of her husband’s 
death Madame Reynaud had remained for 


37 


twenty-four hours overwhelmed, crushed, with- 
out a word or a tear ; then fever had seized 
her, then delirium, and after a fortnight, death. 

Jean was alone in the world ; he was four- 
teen years old. Of that family, where for more 
than a century all had been good and honest, 
there remained only a child kneeling beside 
a grave ; but he, too, promised to be what his 
father and his grandfather before him had 
been, — good and honest and true. 

There are families like that in France, and 
many of them, more than one ventures to say. 
Our poor country is in many respects cruelly 
calumniated by certain novelists, who draw 
exaggerated and distorted pictures of it. It is 
true the history of good people is often monot- 
onous or painful. This story is a proof of it. 

The grief of Jean was the grief of a man. 
He remained long sad and long silent. The 
evening of his father’s funeral the Abbd Con- 
stantin took him home to the vicarage. The 
day had been rainy and cold. Jean was sit- 
ting by the fireside ; the priest was reading his 
oreviary opposite him. Old Pauline came and 
went, attending to her duties. 

An hour passed without a word, when Jean, 
raising his head, said : 


38 

“Godfather, did my father leave me any 
money ? ” 

This question was so extraordinary that the 
old priest, stupefied, could scarcely believe 
that he heard aright. 

“ You ask if your father — ” 

“ I asked if my father left me some money ? ” 

“ Yes ; he must have left you some. ” 

“A good deal, don’t you think? I have 
often heard people say that my father was 
rich. Tell me about how much he has left 
me?” 

“ But I don’t know. You ask — ” 

' The poor old man felt his heart rent in 
twain. Such a question at such a moment ! 
Yet he thought he knew the boy’s heart, and 
in that heart there should not be room for 
such thoughts. 

“ Pray, dear godfather, tell me, ” continued 
Jean gently. “ I will explain to you afterwards 
why I ask that. ” 

“ Well, they say your father had two or three 
hundred thousand francs.” 

“ And is that much ? ” 

“ Yes, it is a great deal.” 

“ And it is all mine ? ” 

“Yes, it is all yours.” 




39 


“ Oh ! I am glad, because, you know, the 
day that my father was killed in the war, the 
Prussians killed at the same time the son of a 
poor woman in Longueval, — old Clemence, 
you know ; and they killed, too, Rosalie’s 
brother, whom I used to play with when I was 
quite little. Well, since I am rich and they 
are poor, I will divide with Clemence and Rosa- 
lie the money my father has left me.” 

On hearing these words the Curd rose, took 
Jean by both hands, and drew him into his 
arms. The white head rested on the fair one. 
Two large tears escaped from the old priest’s 
eyes, rolled slowly down his cheeks, and were 
lost in the furrows of his face. 

However, the Curd was obliged to explain 
to Jean that, though he was his father’s heir, 
he had not the right of disposing of his heri- 
tage as he would. There would be a family 
council, and a guardian would be appointed. 

“ You, no doubt, godfather ? ” 

“ No, not I, my child ; a priest is not allowed 
to exercise the functions of a guardian. They 
will, I think, choose M. Lenient, the lawyer in 
Souvigny, who was one of your father’s best 
friends. You can speak to him and tell him 
what you wish. ” 


40 


M. Lenient was eventually appointed guard' 
ian, and Jean urged his wishes so eagerly and 
touchingly that the lawyer consented to deduct 
from the income a sum of two thousand four 
hundred francs, which, every year till Jean 
came of age, was divided between old Clemence 
and little Rosalie. 

In these circumstances Madame de Lavar- 
dens was perfect. She went to the Abbe and 
said : 

“ Give Jean to me, give him to me entirely 
till he has finished his studies. I will bring 
him back to you every year during the holi- 
days. It is not a service I am rendering you ; 
it is a service which I ask of you. I cannot 
imagine any greater good fortune for my son 
than to have Jean for a companion. I must 
resign myself to leaving Lavardens for a time. 
Paul is bent upon being a soldier and going up 
to Saint-Cyr. It is only in Paris that I can 
obtain the necessary masters. I will take the 
two boys there ; they will study together under 
my own eyes like brothers, and I will make no 
difference between them ; of that you may be 
sure.” 

It was difficult to refuse such an offer. The 
old Cur^ would have dearly liked to keep Jean 


41 


with him, and his heart was torn at the thought 
of the separation ; but what was for the child’s 
real interest ? That was the only question to be 
considered ; the rest was nothing. They sum- 
moned Jean. 

“ My child,” said Madame de Lavardens to 
him, “ will you come and live with Paul and 
me for some years } I will take you both to 
Paris.” 

“ You are very kind, Madame, but I should 
have liked so much to stay here.” 

He looked at the Cure, who turned away 
his eyes. 

“ Why must we go } ” he continued. “ Why 
must you take Paul and me away ? ” 

“ Because it is only in Paris that you can 
have all the advantages necessary to complete 
your studies. Paul will prepare for his exam- 
ination at Saint-Cyr. You know he wants to 
be a soldier.” 

“ So do I, Madame. I wish to be one too.” 

“ You a soldier ! ” exclaimed the Curd ; 
“ but you know that was not at all your father’s 
idea. In my presence he has often spoken of 
your future, your career. You were to be a 
doctor, and like him, doctor at Longueval, and 
like him, devote yourself to the sick and 


42 

the poor. Jean, my child, do you remem- 
ber?” 

“ I remember ; I remember. 

“ Well, then, Jean, you must do as your 
father wished : it is your duty, Jean ; it is your 
duty. You must go to Paris. You would 
like to stay here, I understand that well, and I 
should like it too ; but it cannot be. You 
must go to Paris, and work, work hard. Not 
that I api anxious about that ; you are your 
father’s true son. You will be an honest and 
industrious man. One cannot well be the 
one without the other. And some day, in your 
father’s house, in the place where he has done 
so much good, the poor people of the country 
round will find another Dr. Reynaud, to whom 
they may look for help. And I, — if by chance 
I am still in this world, — when that day comes, 
I shall be so happy ! But I am wrong to speak 
of myself ; I ought not, I do not count. It is 
of your father that you must think. I repeat 
it, Jean, it was his dearest wish. You cannot 
have forgotten it.” 

“No, I have not forgotten ; but if my father 
sees me, and hears me, I am certain that he 
understands and forgives me, for it is on his 
account. ” 


43 


“ On his account ? 

“Yes. When I heard that he was dead, 
and when I heard how he died, all at once, 
without any need of reflection, I said to my- 
self that I would be a soldier ; and I will be a 
soldier ! Godfather, and you, Madame, I beg 
you not to prevent me.” 

The child burst into tears — a perfect flood 
of passionate tears. The Countess and the 
Abbd soothed him with gentle words. 

“ Yes — yes — it is settled,” they said ; “ any- 
thing that you wish, all that you wish.” 

Both had the same thought, — leave it to 
time ; Jean is only a child ; he will change his 
mind. 

In this both were mistaken ; Jean did not 
change his mind. In the month of September, 
1876, Paul de Lavardens was rejected at 
Saint-Cyr, and Jean Reynaud passed eleventh, 
at the Ecole Polytechnique. The day when 
the list of the candidates who had passed was 
published he wrote to the Abbe Constantin : 

“ I have passed, and passed too well, for I 
want to go into the army, and not the Civil. 
Service ; however, if I keep my place in the 
school, that will be the good fortune of one o£ 
my comrades : he will have my chance.” 


44 


It happened so in the end. Jean Reynaud 
did better than keep his place ; the pass list 
showed his name seventh, but instead of 
entering “ TEcole des Fonts et Chaussdes,” he 
entered the military college at Fontainebleau in 
1878. 

He was then just twenty-one ; he was of 
age, master of his fortune, and the first act of 
the new administration was a great, a very 
great piece of extravagance. He bought for 
oM Clemence and little Rosalie two shares in 
government stock of fifteen hundred francs 
a year each. That cost him 70,000 francs, 
almost the sum that Paul de Lavardens, in his 
first year of liberty in Paris, spent for Made- 
moiselle Lise Bruyere, of the Palais Royal 
Theatre. 

Two years later Jean passed first at the ex- 
amination, and left Fontainebleau with the 
right of choosing among the vacant places. 
There was one in the regiment quartered at 
Souvigny, and Souvigny was three miles 
from Longueval. Jean asked for this, and 
obtained it. 

Thus Jean Reynaud, lieutenant in the ninth 
regiment of artillery, came in the month of 
October, 1880, to take possession of the house 


45 


that had been his father’s ; thus he found him- 
self once more in the place where his child- 
hood had passed, and where every one had 
kept green the memory of the life and death 
of his father ; thus the Abbd Constantin was 
not denied the happiness of once again hav- 
ing near him the son of his old friend, and, if 
the truth must be told, he no longer wished 
that Jean had become a doctor. 

When the old Cur^ left his church after 
saying mass, when he saw coming along the 
road a great cloud of dust, when he felt the 
earth tremble under the rumbling cannon, he 
would stop, and like a child amuse himself 
with seeing the regiment pass ; but to him the 
regiment was — Jean. It was this robust and 
manly cavalier, in whose face, as in an open 
book, one read uprightness, courage, and good- 
ness. 

The moment Jean perceived the Cur^ he 
would put his horse to a gallop, and go to have 
a little chat with his godfather. The horse 
would turn his head towards the Curd, for he 
knew very well there was always a piece of 
sugar for him in the pocket of that old black 
soutane — rusty and worn — the morning soutane. 
The Abbd Constantin had a beautiful new one 


46 


®tiie gilrlTij 

of which he took great care, to wear in society 
— when he went into society. 

The trumpets of the regiment sounded as 
they passed through the village, and all eyes 
sought Jean — “ Little Jean ” — for to the old 
people of Longueval he was still little Jean. 
Certain wrinkled, broken down, old peasants 
had never been able to break themselves of 
the habit of saluting him when he passed with, 
Bonjour, gamin, 9a va bien ? ” 

He was six feet high, this “ gamin,” and Jean 
never crossed the village without perceiving at 
one window the old furrowed parchment skin 
of Cldmence, and at another the smiling coun- 
tenance of Rosalie. The latter had married 
during the previous year, Jean had given her 
away, and joyously on the wedding night had 
he danced with the girls of Longueval. 

Such was the lieutenant of artillery, who on 
Saturday, May 28, 1881, at half-past four in 
the afternoon, sprang from his horse before the 
door of the vicarage of Longueval. He entered 
the gate, the horse obediently followed, and 
went by himself into a little shed in the yard. 
Pauline was at the kitchen window ; Jean 
approached and kissed her heartily on both 
cheeks. 


47 


‘‘ Good-evening, Pauline. Is all well ? ” 

“ Very well. I am busy preparing your 
dinner ; would you like to know what you are 
going to have ? — potato soup, a leg of mutton, 
and a custard.” 

“ That is excellent : I shall enjoy everything, 
for I am dying of hunger.” 

“ And a salad ; I had forgotten it ; you can 
help me cut it directly. Dinner will be at 
half-past six exactly, for at half-past seven 
Monsieur le Gurkhas his service for the month 
of Mary.” 

“ Where is my godfather ? ” 

“ You will find him in the garden. He is 
very sad on account of yesterday’s sale.” 

“ Yes, I know, I know.” 

“ It will cheer him a little to see you ; he is 
always so happy when you are here. Take 
care ; Loulou is going to eat the climbing roses. 
How hot he is ! ” 

“ I came the long way by the wood, and rode 
very fast.” 

Jean captured Loulou, who was directing 
his steps towards the climbing roses. He un- 
saddled him, fastened him in the little shed, 
rubbed him down with a great handful of straw, 
after which he entered the house, relieved 


48 


himself of his sword and kepi, replaced the 
the latter by an old straw hat, value sixpence, 
and then went to look for his godfather in the 
garden. 

The poor Abbe was indeed sad ; he had 
scarcely closed an eye all night — he who gen- 
erally slept so easily, so quietly, the sound 
sleep of a child. His soul was wrung. Lon- 
gueval in the hands of a foreigner, of a heretic, 
of an adventuress ! 

Jean repeated what Paul had said the even- 
ing before. 

“ You will have money, plenty of money, for 
your poor.’^ 

Money ! money ! Yes, my poor will not 
lose, perhaps they will even gain by it ; but I 
must go and ask for this money, and in the 
salon, instead of my old and dear friend, I 
shall find this red-haired American. It seems 
that she has red hair ! I will certainly go for 
the sake of my poor — I will go — and she will 
give me the money, but she will give me noth- 
ing but money ; the Marquise gave me some- 
thing else, — her life and her heart. Every 
week we went together to visit the sick and 
the poor ; she knew all the sufferings and the 
miseries of the country round, and when the 




49 


gout nailed me to my easy-chair she made the 
rounds alone, and as well, or better than I.” 

Pauline interruped this conversation. She 
carried an immense earthenware salad-dish, on 
•which bloomed, violent and startling, enormous 
red flowers. 

Here I am,” said Pauline, “ I am going to 
cut the salad. Jean, would you like lettuce or 
endive ” 

“Endive,” said Jean, gayly. “ It is a long 
time since I have had any endive.” 

“ Well, you shall have some to-night. Stay, 
take the dish.” 

Pauline began to cut the endive, and Jean 
bent down to receive the leaves in the great 
salad-dish. The Curd looked on. 

At this moment a sound of little bells was 
heard. A carriage was approaching; one 
heard the jangling and creaking of its wheels. 
The Cure’s little garden was separated from the 
road only by a low hedge, in the middle of 
which was a little trellised gate. 

All three looked out, and saw driving down 
the road a hired carrage of most primitive con- 
struction, drawn by two great white horses, 
and driven by an old coachman in a blouse. 
Beside this old coachman was seated a tall 
4 


50 Wl^t 

footman in livery, of the most severe and cor- 
rect demeanor. In the carriage were two 
young women, dressed both alike in very ele- 
gant, but very simple travelling costumes. 

When the carriage was opposite the gate the 
coachman stopped his horses, and addressing 
the Abbe : 

“ Monsieur le Curd,” said he, “ these ladies 
wish to speak to you.” 

Then, turning towards the ladies : 

“ This is Monsieur le Cure of Longueval.” 

The Abbe Constantin approached and opened 
the little gate. The travellers alighted. Their 
looks rested, not without astonishment, on the 
young officer, who stood there, a little embar- 
rassed, with his straw hat in one hand, and 
his salad-dish, all overflowing with endive, in 
the other. 

The visitors entered the garden, and the elder 
— she seemed about twenty-five — addressing 
the Abbe Constantin, said to him with a 
little foreign accent, very original and very 
peculiar — 

“ I am obliged to introduce myself — Mrs. 
Scott ; I am Mrs. Scott ! It was I who 
bought the castle and farms and all the 
rest here at the sale yesterday. I hope 


that I do not disturb you, and that you can 
spare me five minutes.” Then, pointing to 
her travelling companion, “ Miss Bettina Per- 
cival, my sister ; you guessed it, I am sure. 
We are very much alike, are we not ? Ah ! 
Bettina, we have left our bags in the carriage, 
and we shall want them directly.” 

“ I will get them.” 

And as Miss Percival prepared to go for the 
two little bags Jean said to her: 

“ Pray allow me.” 

^ I am really very sorry to give you so much 
trouble. The servant will give them to you ; 
they are on the front seat.” 

She had the same accent as her sister, the 
same large eyes, black, laughing, and gay, and 
the same hair, not red, but fair, with golden 
shades, where daintily danced the light of the 
sun. She bowed to Jean with a pretty little 
smile, and he, having returned to Pauline the 
salad-dish full of endive, went to look for the 
two little bags. Meanwhile, much agitated, 
sorely disturbed, the Abbd Constantin intro- 
duced into his vicarage the new Chatelaine of 
Longueval. 


52 




CHAPTER III. 

This vicarage of Tongueval was far from 
being a palace. The same apartment on the 
ground floor served for dining and draw- 
ing room, communicating directly with the 
kitchen by a door, which stood always wide 
open ; this room was furnished in the most 
scanty manner : two old arm-chairs, six straw 
chairs, a sideboard, a round table. Pauline 
had already laid the cloth for the dinner of 
the Abb6 and Jean. 

Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival went and 
came, examining the domestic arrangements 
of the Curd with a sort of childish wonder. 

“ But the garden, the house, everything is 
charming,” said Mrs. Scott. 

They both boldly penetrated into the 
kitchen ; the Abb4 Constantin followed them, 
scared, bewildered, stupefied at the sudden- 
ness and resolution of this American in- 
vasion. 


Old Pauline, with an anxious and gloomy 
air, studied the two foreigners. 

“ Here they are, then,” she said to herself, 
“ these Protestants, these accursed heretics ! ” 
“ I must compliment you,” said Bettina ; 
“your little kitchen is so beautifully kept. 
Look, Suzie, is not the vicarage altogether 
exactly what you washed ? ” 

“ And so is the Curd,” rejoined Mrs. Scott. 
“ Yes, Monsieur le Cure, if you will permit me 
to say so, you do not know how happy it makes 
me to find you just what you are. In the 
railway carriage what did I say to you, 
Bettina ? And again just now, when we were 
driving here .? ” 

“ My sister said to me. Monsieur le Curd, 
that what she desired above everything was a 
priest, not young or melancholy or severe, but 
one with white hair and a kind and gentle 
manner. And that is exactly what you are. 
Monsieur le Curd, exactly. No, we could not 
have been more fortunate. Excuse me for 
speaking to you in this manner ; the Parisians 
know how to make pretty phrases, but I do not, 
and in speaking French I should often be quite 
at a loss if I did not say everything in a simple 
and childish way, as it comes into my head. 


54 

In a word, I am satisfied, quite satisfied, and 
I hope that you too. Monsieur le Curd, will be 
satisfied with your new parishioners.” 

“ My parishioners ! ” exclaimed the Curd, all 
at once recovering speech, movement, life, 
everything which for some moments had com- 
pletely abandoned him. “ My parishioners ! 
Pardon me, Madame, Mademoiselle, I am so 
agitated. You will be — you are Catholics ? ” 

“ Certainly we are Catholics.” 

“ Catholics ! Catholics ! ” repeated the Curd. 
“ Catholics ! Catholics ! ” echoed old Pau- 
line. 

Mrs. Scott looked from the Curd to Pauline, 
from Pauline to the Curd, much surprised that 
a single word should produce such an effect, 
and, to complete the tableau, Jean appeared 
carrying the two little travelling-bags. 

The Curd and Pauline saluted him with the 
same word — 

“ Catholics ! Catholics ! ” 

“ Ah ! I begin to understand,” said Mrs. 
Scott, laughing. “ It is our name, our country ; 
you thought that we were Protestants. Not 
at all. Our mother was a Canadian, French 
and Catholic by descent ; that is why my sister 
and I both speak French, with an accent, it is 


true, and with certain American idioms, but 
yet in such a manner as to be able to express 
nearly all we want to say. My husband is a 
Protestant, but he allows me complete liberty, 
and my two children are Catholics. That 
is why, Monsieur TAbbe, we wished to come 
and see you the very first day.” 

“ That is one reason,” continued Bettina, 
“ But there is also another ; but for that reason 
we shall want our little bags.” 

“ Here they are,” said Jean. 

While the two little bags passed from the 
hands of the officer to those of Mrs. Scott and 
Bettina, the Cure introduced Jean to the two 
American ladies, but his agitation was so great 
that the introduction was not made strictly 
according to rule. The Curd only forgot one 
thing, is it true, but that was a thing tolerably 
essential in an introduction, — the family name 
of Jean. 

“ This is Jean,” said he, “ my godson, lieu- 
tenant of artillery, now quartered at Souvighy. 
He is one of the family.” 

Jean made two deep bows, the ladies two 
little ones, after which they foraged in their 
bags, from which each drew a rouleau of 1,000 


56 WJxt 

francs, daintily enclosed in green sheaths of 
serpent skin, clasped with gold. 

“ I have brought you this for your poor,” 
said Mrs. Scott. 

“ And I have brought you this,” said 
Bettina. 

“ And besides that, Monsieur le Curd, I am 
going to give you five hundred francs a month,” 
said Mrs. Scott. 

** And I will do like my sister.” 

Delicately they slipped their offerings into 
the right and left hands of the Cure, who, 
looking at each hand alternately, said : 

“What are these little things.? They are 
very heavy; there must be money in them. 
Yes, but how much, how much ? ” 

The Abbd Constantin was seventy-two, and 
much money had passed through his hands, 
but this money had come to him in small sums, 
and the idea of such an offering as this had 
never entered his head. Two thousand francs I 
Never had he had two thousand francs in his 
possession — no, not even one thousand. He 
stammered : 

“ I am very grateful to you, Madame ; you 
are very good. Mademoiselle — ” 

But after all he could not thank them enough, 


and Jean thought it necessary to come to his 
assistance. 

“ These ladies have just given you two thou- 
sand francs I ” 

And then, full of warmest gratitude, the 
Curd cried : 

“Two thousand francs ! Two thousand 
francs for my poor ! ” 

Pauline suddenly reappeared. 

“ Here, Pauline,” said the Cure, “ put away 
this money, and take care — ” 

Old Pauline filled many positions in this 
simple household, — cook, maid-of-all-work, 
treasurer, dispenser. Her hands received with 
a respectful tremble these two little rouleaux, 
which represented so much misery alleviated, 
so much suffering relieved. 

“ A thousand francs a month ! But there 
will be no poor left in the country.” 

“ That is just what I wish. I am rich, very 
rich, and so is my sister ; she is even richer 
than I am, because a young girl has not so 
many expenses, while I — Ah ! well, I spend 
all that I can — all that I can. When one has 
a great deal of money, too much, more than one 
feels to be just, tell me. Monsieur le Curd, is 
there any other way of obtaining pardon than 


58 Wht 

to keep one’s hands open, and give, give, give, 
all one can, and as usefully as one can ? Be- 
sides, you can give me something in return,’^ 
and, turning to Pauline, “ Will you be so kind 
as to give me a glass of water ? No, nothing 
else, a glass of cold water ; I am dying of 
thirst.” 

And I,” said Bettina, laughing, while Pauline 
ran to fetch the water, “ I am dying of some- 
thing else — of hunger, to tell the truth. Mon- 
sieur le Curd, — I know that I am going to be 
dreadfully intrusive ; I see your cloth is laid, 
— could you not invite us to dinner } ’ 

“ Bettina ! ” said Mrs. Scott. 

“ Let me alone, Suzie, let me alone. Won’t 
you. Monsieur le Cure ? I am sure you will.” 

But he could find no reply. The old Curd 
hardly knew where he was. They had taken 
his vicarage by storm ; they were Catholics ; 
they had promised him a thousand francs a 
month, and now they wanted to dine with him. 
Ah ! that was the last stroke. Terror seized 
him at the thought of having to do the honors 
of his leg of mutton and custard to these two 
absurdly rich Americans. He murmured : 

“ Dine ! — you would like to dine here ? ” 
Jean thought he must interpose again. “ It 


59 


would be a great pleasure to my godfather,” 
said he, “ if you would kindly stay. But I 
know what disturbs him. We were going to 
dine together, just the two of us, and you must 
not expect a feast. You will be very indul- 
gent ? ” 

“Yes, yes, very indulgent,” replied Bettina; 
then, addressing her sister, “ Come, Suzie, you 
must not be cross, because I have been a little 
— you know it is my way to be a little — Let 
us stay, will you ? It will do us good to pass 
a quiet hour here, after such a day as we have 
had ! On the railway, in the carriage, in the 
heat, in the dust ; we had such a horrid lunch- 
eon, in such a horrid hotel. We were to have 
returned to the same hotel at seven o’clock 
to dine, and then take the train back to Paris, 
but dinner here will be really much nicer. 
You won’t say no ? Ah ! how good you are, 
Suzie ! ” 

She embraced her sister fondly ; then turn- 
ing towards the Cure — 

“ If you only knew, Monsieur le Curd, how 
good she is ! ” 

“ Bettina ! Bettina ! ” 

“ Come,” said Jean, “ quick, Pauline, two 
more plates ; I will help you.” 


6o 


glie 

“ And so will I,” said Bettina ; “ I will help 
too. Oh ! do let me ; it will be so amusing. 
Monsieur le Curd, you will let me do a little 
as if I were at home ? ” 

In a moment she had taken off her mantle, 
and Jean could admire, in all its exquisite 
perfection, a figure marvellous for suppleness 
and grace. Miss Percival then removed her 
hat, but with a little too much haste, for this 
was the signal for a charming catastrophe. A 
whole avalanche descended in torrents, in long 
cascades, over Bettina’s shoulders. She was 
standing before a window flooded by the rays 
of the sun, and this golden light, falling full 
on this golden hair, formed a delicious frame 
for the sparkling beauty of the young girl. 
Confused and blushing, Bettina was obliged to 
call her sister to her aid, and Mrs. Scott had 
much trouble in introducing order into this 
disorder. 

When this disaster was at length repaired, 
nothing could prevent Bettina from rushing on 
plates, knives, and forks. 

“ Oh ! indeed,” said she to Jean, “ I know 
very well how to lay the cloth. Ask my sister. 
Tell him, Suzie, when I was a little girl in New 
York, I used to lay the cloth very well, didn’t I ?” 


6i 


“Very well indeed,” said Mrs. Scott. 

And then, while begging the Cure to excuse 
Bettina’s want of thought, she, too, took off 
her hat and mantle, so that Jean had again the 
very agreeable spectacle of a charming figure 
and beautiful hair ; but, to Jean’s great regret, 
the catastrophe had not a second representa- 
tion. 

In a few minutes, Mrs. Scott, Miss Percival, 
the Curd, and Jean were seated round the 
little vicarage table ; then, thanks partly to 
the impromptu and original nature of the 
entertainment, partly to Bettina’s good-humor 
and perhaps slightly audacious gayety, the 
conversation took a turn of the frankest and 
most cordial familiarity. 

“ Now, Monsieur le Cure,” said Bettina, 
“ you shall see if I did not speak the truth 
when I said I was dying of hunger. I never 
was so glad to sit down to dinner. This is 
such a delightful finish to our day. Both my 
sister and I are perfectly happy now we have 
this castle and these farms and the forest.” 

“ And then,” said Mrs. Scott, “ to have all 
that in such an extraordinary and unexpected 
manner ! We were so taken by surprise.” 

“ You may indeed say so, Suzie. You must 


62 


know, Monsieur I’Abbe, that yesterday was 
my sister’s birthday. But first, pardon me, 
Monsieur — Jean, is it not } ” 

Yes, Miss Percival, Monsieur Jean.” 

^‘Well, Monsieur Jean, a little more of that 
excellent soup, if you please.” 

The Abbd was beginning to recover a little, 
but he was still too agitated to perform the 
duties of a host. It was Jean who had under- 
taken the management of his godfather’s little 
dinner. He filled the plate of the charming 
American girl, who fixed upon him the glance 
of two large eyes, in which sparkled frankness, 
daring, and gayety. Jean’s eyes, meanwhile, re- 
paid Miss Percival in the same coin. It was 
scarcely three-quarters of an hour since the 
young American lady and the young officer 
had made acquaintance in the Cure’s garden, 
yet both felt already perfectly at ease with each 
other, full of confidence, almost like old friends. 

“ I told you. Monsieur I’Abbe,” continued 
Bettina, “ that yesterday was my sister’s birth- 
day. A week ago my brother-in-law was obliged 
to return to America, but at starting he said 
to my sister, ‘ I shall not be with you on 
your birthday, but you will hear from me.’ So 
yesterday presents and bouquets arrived from 


Wkt 63 

all quarters, but from my brother-in law, up 
to five o’clock, nothing — nothing. We were 
just starting for a ride in the Bois, and d pro- 
pos of riding she stopped, and looking curi- 
ously at Jean’s great dusty boots — “ Monsieur 
Jean, you have spurs on.” 

“Yes, Miss Percival.” 

“ Then you are in the cavalry ? ” 

“ I am in the artillery, and that, you know, is. 
cavalry.” 

“ And your regiment is quartered — ” 

“ Quite near here.” 

“ Then you will be able to ride with us } ” 

“ With the greatest pleasure.” 

“ That is settled. Let me see ; where was 
I ” 

“ You do not know at all where you are, 
Bettina, and you are telling these gentlemen 
things which cannot interest them.” 

“ Oh ! I beg your pardon,” said the Cure. 
“ The sale of this estate is the only subject of 
conversation in the neighborhood just now, 
and Miss Percival’s account interests me very 
much.” 

“ You see, Suzie, my story interests Mon- 
sieur le Cure very much ; then I shall con- 
tinue. We went for our ride, we returned at 


64 


seven o’clock — nothing. We dined, and just 
when we were leaving the table a telegram from 
America arrived. It contained only a few 
lines : 

“ * 1 have ordered the purchase to-day, for 
you and in your name, of the castle and lands 
of Longueval, near Souvigny, on the northern 
railway line.’ 

“ Then we both burst in to wild fit of laugh- 
ter at the thought.” 

“ No, no, Bettina ; you calumniate us both. 
Our first thought was one of very sincere grati- 
tude, for both my sister and I are very fond of 
the country. My husband knows that we 
have longed to have an estate in France. For 
six months he had been looking out, and 
found nothing. At last he discovered this one, 
and without telling us ordered it to be bought 
for my birthday. It was a delicate attention.” 

“ Yes, Suzie, you are right, but after the little 
fit of gratitude we had a great one of gayety.” 

“ Yes, I confess it. When we realized that 
we had suddenly become possessed of a castle, 
without knowing in the least where it was, what 
it was like, or how much it had cost, it seemed 
so like a fairy tale. Well, for five good 
minutes we laughed with all our hearts, then. 


6s 


©fee 

we seized the map of France, and succeeded 
in discovering Souvigny. When we had fin- 
ished with the map, it was the turn of the 
railway guide, and this morning, by the ten 
o’clock express, we arrived at Souvigny. 

We have passed the whole day in visiting 
the castle, the woods, the stables. We are 
delighted with what we have seen. Onlyj 
Monsieur le Cure, there is one thing about 
which I feel curious. I know that the place 
was sold yesterday by auction ; I saw the 
placards all along ; but I have not dared to 
ask either agent or farmer who accompanied 
me in my walk — for my ignorance would have 
seemed too absurd — I have not dared to ask 
how much it cost. In the telegram my hus- 
band does not mention the sum. Since I am 
so delighted with the place, the price is only a 
detail, but still I should like to know it. Tell 
me. Monsieur le Cure, do you know what it 
cost? ” 

“An enormous price,” replied the Cure, 
“for many hopes and many ambitions were 
excited about Longueval.” 

“ An enormous price ! You frighten me. 
How much exactly ? ” 

“ Three millions ! ” 

S 


66 




Is that all ? Is that all ? ” cried Mrs. 
Scott. “ The castle, the farms, the forest, all 
for three millions.” 

“ But that is nothing,” said Bettina. “ That 
delicious little stream which wanders through 
the park is alone worth three millions.” 

“ And you said just now. Monsieur le Curd, 
that there were several persons who were our 
rivals at the sale ? ” 

“Yes, Mrs. Scott” 

“ And after the sale, was my name men- 
tioned among these persons } ” 

“ Certainly it was.” 

“ And when my name was mentioned was 
there no one there who spoke of me ? Yes, 
yes, your silence is a sufficient answer ; they 
did speak of me. Well, Monsieur le Curd, I 
am now serious, very serious. I beg you as 
a favor to tell me what was said.” 

“ But,” replied the poor Cure, who felt him- 
self upon burning coals, “ they spoke of your 
large fortune.” 

“Yes, of course, they would be obliged to 
speak of that, and no doubt they said that I 
was very rich, but had not been rich long — 
that I was a parvenue. Very well, but that is^ 
not all ; they must have said something else.’^ 


6 ; 


5;:hjC C>0n:&'tatttiw, 


“ No, indeed ; I have heard nothing else.’^ 

** Oh ! Monsieur le Cure, that is what you 
may call a white lie, and I am making you 
very unhappy, because naturally you are the 
soul of truth, but if I torment you thus it is 
because I have the greatest interest in know- 
ing what was said.” 

“You are right,” interrupted Jean, “you are 
right. They said you were one of the most 
elegant, the most brilliant, and the — ” 

“ And one of the prettiest women in Paris. 
With a little indulgence they might say that ; 
but that is not all yet — there is something else.” 
“ Oh ! I assure you — ” 

“ Yes, there is something else, and I should 
like to hear it this very moment, and I should 
like the information to be very frank and very 
exact. It seems to me that I am in a lucky vein 
to-day, and I feel asif you were both a little in- 
clined to be my friends, and that you will be 
so entirely some day. Well, tell me if I am 
right in supposing that should false and absurd 
stories be told about me, you will help me to 
contradict them ? 

“ Yes ! ” replied Jean, with great eagerness, 
“ you are right in believing that.” 

“ Well, then, it is to you that I address my- 


68 


self. You are a soldier, and courage is part of 
your profession. Promise me to be brave. 
Will you promise me ? 

“ What do you understand by being brave ? ” 
“ Promise, promise — without explanations, 
without conditions.’^ 

“Well, I promise.” 

“ You will then reply frankly, ‘ Yes’ or ‘ No,’ 
to my questions ? ” 

“ I will.” 

“ Did they say that I had begged in the 
streets of New York ? ” 

“Yes, they said so.” 

“ Did they say I had been a rider in a travel- 
ling circus ? ” 

“ Yes, they said that too.” 

“Very well; that is plain speaking. Now 
remark first that in all this there is nothing 
that one might not acknowledge if it were 
true ; but it is not true, and have I not the 
right of denying it ? My history — I will tell 
it you in a few words. I am going to pass 
a part of my life in this place, and I desire 
that all should know who I am and whence I 
come. To begin then. Poor ! ‘Yes, I have 
been, and very poor. Eight years ago my 
father died, and was soon followed by my 


giblTie 69 

mother. I was then eighteen, and Bettina 
nine. We were alone in the world, encum- 
bered with heavy debts and a great lawsuit. 
My father’s last words had been, ‘ Suzie, 
never, never compromise. Millions, my chil- 
dren, you will have millions.’ He kissed us 
both ; soon delirium seized him, and he died 
repeating, ‘ Millions ! millions ! ’ The next 
morning a lawyer appeared, who offered to pay 
all our debts, and to give us besides ten thou- 
sand dollars, if we would give up all our 
claims. I refused. It was then that for sev- 
eral months we were very poor.” 

“ And it was then,” said Bettina, “ that I 
used to lay the cloth.” 

“ I spent my life among the solicitors of 
New York, but no one would take up my case ; 
everywhere I received the same reply, ‘Your 
case is very doubtful ; you have rich and for- 
midable adversaries ; you need money, large 
sums of money, to bring such a case to a con- 
clusion, and you have nothing. They offer to 
pay your debts, and to give you ten thousand 
dollars besides. Accept it, and sell your case.’ 
But my father’s last words rang in my ears, 
and I would not. Poverty, however, might 
soon have forced me to, when one day I made 


70 


another appeal to one of my father's old 
friends, a banker in New York, Mr. William 
Scott. He was not alone ; a young man was 
sitting in his office. 

“ * You may speak freely,' said Mr. Scott •, 
‘it is my son Richard.' 

“ I looked at the young man, he looked at 
me, and we recognized each other. 

“ ‘ Suzie ! ' 

“ ‘ Richard ! ' 

“ Formerly, as children, we had often played 
together and were great friends. Seven or 
eight years before this meeting he had been 
sent to Europe to finish his education. We 
shook hands ; his father made me sit down, 
and asked what my errand was. He listened 
to my tale, and replied : 

“ ‘ You would require twenty or thirty thou- 
sand dollars. No one would lend you such a 
sum upon the uncertain chances of a very com- 
plicated lawsuit. If you are in difficulties ; if 
you need assistance — ' 

“‘It is not that, father,' said Richard, 
eagerly. ‘ That is not what Miss Percival 
asks.' 

“ ‘ I know that very well, but what she asks 
is impossible.' 


71 


“ He rose to let me out. Then the sense of 
my helplessness overpowered me for the first 
time since my father’s death. I burst into a 
violent flood of fears. An hour later Richard 
.Scott was at my house. 

“ ‘ Suzie,’ he said, ‘ promise to accept what 
I am going to offer.’ 

“ I promised him. 

* Well,’ said he, * on the single condition 
that my father shall know nothing about 
it, I place at your disposal the necessary 
sum.’ 

‘ But then you ought to know what the 
lawsuit is — what it is worth.’ 

“ ‘ I do not know a single word about it, 
and I do not wish to. Besides, you have 
promised to accept it ; you cannot withdraw 
now.’ 

** He offered it to me with such frankness 
that I accepted. Three months later the case 
was ours. All this vast property became be- 
yond dispute the property of Bettina and me. 
The other side offered to buy it of us for five 
millions. I consulted Richard. 

“ ‘ Refuse it and wait,’ said he ; ‘if they 
offer you such a sum it is because the property 
is worth double.’ 


72 




“ ‘ However, I must return you your money ; 
I owe you a great deal.’ 

“ ‘ Oh ! as for that there is no hurry ; I am 
very easy about it ; my money is quite safe 
now.’ 

“ ‘ But I should like to pay you at once. I 
have a horror of debt ! Perhaps there is 
another way without selling the property. 
Richard, will you be my husband ? ’ 

“Yes, Monsieur le Cur^, — yes,” said Mrs. 
Scott, laughing, “ it is thus that I threw myself 
at my husband’s head. I asked his hand. But 
really I was obliged to act thus. Never, never 
would he have spoken ; I had become too 
rich, and as he loved me, and not my money, 
he was becoming terribly afraid of me. That 
is the history of my marriage. As to the his- 
tory of my fortune, it can be told in a few 
words. There were indeed millions in those 
wide lands of Colorado; they discovered 
there abundant mines of silver, and from those 
mines we draw every year an income which is 
beyond reason, but we have agreed — my hus- 
band, my sister, and myself — to give a very 
large share of this income to the poor. You 
see. Monsieur le Cur^, it is because we have 
known very hard times that you will always find 


73 


us read to help those who are, as we have been 
ourselves, involved in the difficulties and sor- 
rows of life. And now. Monsieur Jean, will you 
forgive me this long discourse, and offer me 
a little of that cream, which looks so very 
good ? ” 

This cream was Pauline’s custard, and 
while Jean was serving Mrs. Scott — 

“ I have not yet finished,” she continued. 
“ Y ou must know what gave rise to these ex- 
travagant stories. A year ago, when we set- 
tled in Paris, we considered it our duty on our 
arrival to give a certain sum to the poor. 
Who was it spoke of that ? None of us, cer- 
tainly, but the thing was told in a newspaper, 
with the amount. Immediately two young re- 
porters hastened to subject Mr. Scott to a little 
examination on his past history ; they wished 
to give a sketch of our career in the — what do 
you call them } — society papers. Mr. Scott is 
sometimes a little hasty ; he was so on this oc- 
casion, and dismissed these gentlemen rather 
brusquely without telling them anything. So, 
as they did not know our real history, they 
invented one, and certainly displayed a very 
lively imagination. One of them related how 
I had begged in the snow in New York ; the 


74 


2i;he 

next day appeared a still more sensational 
article, which made me a rider in a circus in 
Philadelphia. You have some very funny 
papers in France ; so have we in America, 
for the matter of that.” 

During the last five minutes Pauline had 
been making desperate signs to the Cure, who 
persisted in not understanding them, till at 
last the poor woman, calling up all her courage, 
said : 

Monsieur le Curd, it is a quarter-past 
seven.” 

“ A quarter-past seven ! Ladies, I must 
beg you to excuse me. This evening I have 
the special service for the month of Mary.” 

“ The month of Mary ? And will the service 
begin directly ? ” 

“ Yes, directly.” 

“ And when does our train start for Paris ? ” 
“ At half-past nine,” replied Jean. 

“ Suzie, can we not go to church first ? ” 
“Yes, we will go,” replied Mrs. Scott; 
“ but before we separate. Monsieur le Cure, I 
have one favor to ask you. I should like very 
much, the first time I dine at Longueval, that 
you would dine with me, and you too. Monsieur 
Jean, just us four alone as to-day. Oh ! do 


©hie gkhhe 75 

not refuse my invitation ; it is given with all 
my heart.” 

“ And accepted as heartily,” replied Jean. 

“ I will write and tell you the day, and it 
shall be as soon as possible. You call that 
having a house-warming, don’t you ? Well, 
we will have the house-warming all to our- 
selves.” 

Meanwhile Pauline had drawn Miss Percival 
into a corner of the room, and was talking to 
her with great animation. The conversation 
ended with these words : 

“ You will be there ? ” said Bettina, “ and 
you will tell me the exact moment } ” 

“ I will tell you, but take care. Here is 
Monsieur le Curd ; he must not suspect any- 
thing.” 

The two sisters, the Curd, and Jean left the 
house. To go to the church they were obliged 
to cross the churchyard. The evening was 
delicious. Slowly, silently, under the rays of 
the setting sun the four walked down a long 
avenue. 

On their way was the monument to Dr. 
Reynaud, very simple, but which yet, by its 
proportions, showed distinctly among the other 
tombs. 


76 


“ Mrs. Scott and Bettina stopped, struck with 
with this inscription carved on the stone : 

Here lies Dr. Marcel Reynaud, Surgeon- 
Major of the Souvigny Reserves; killed Jan- 
uary 8, 1871, at the battle of Villersexel. Pray 
for him.” 

When they had read it, the Cure, pointing 
to Jean, said these simple words : 

“ It was his father ! ” 

The two sisters drew near the tomb, and 
with bent heads remained there for some 
minutes, pensive, touched, contemplative. 
Then both turned, and at the same moment, 
by the same impulse, offered their hands to 
the young officer ; then continued their walk 
to the church. Their first prayer at Lon- 
gueval had been for Jean’s father. 

The Cure went to put on his surplice and 
stole. Jean conducted Mrs. Scott to the seat 
which belonged to the masters of Longue- 
val. 

Pauline had gone on before. She was wait- 
ing for Miss Percival in the shadow behind 
one of the pillars. By a steep and narrow 
staircase she led Bettina to the gallery, and 
placed her before the harmonium. 

Preceded by two little chorister boys, the 


old Cure left the vestry, and at the moment 
when he knelt on the steps of the altar — 

“ Now ! mademoiselle,” said Pauline, whose 
heart beat with impatience. “ Poor, dear man, 
how pleased he will be ! ” 

When he heard the sound of the music rise, 
soft as a murmur, and spread through the 
little church, the Abbd Constantin was filled 
with such emotion, such joy, that the tears 
came to his eyes. He could not remember 
having wept since the day when Jean had said 
that he wished to share all that he possessed 
with the mother and sister of those who had 
fallen by his father’s side under the Prussian 
bullets. 

To bring tears to the eye of the old priest 
a young American girl had been brought 
across the seas to play a revery of Chopin in 
the little church of Longueval. 


78 


©Itie 


CHAPTER IV. 

The next day, at half-past five in the morn* 
ing, the bugle-call rang through the barrack- 
yard at Souvigny. Jean mounted his horse^ 
and took his place with his division. By the 
end of May all the recruits in the army are 
sufficiently instructed to be capable of sharing 
in the general evolutions. Almost every day 
manoeuvres of the mounted artillery are ex- 
ecuted on the parade ground. Jean loved his 
profession ; he was in the habit of inspecting 
carefully the grooming and harness of the horses 
the equipment and carriage of his men. This 
morning, however, he bestowed but scant at- 
tention on all the little details of his duty. 

One problem agitated, tormented him, and 
left him always undecided, and this problem 
was one of those the solution of which is not 
given at the ^)cole Poly technique. Jean could 
find no convincing reply to this question, 
“ Which of the two sisters is the prettier .? ’’ 


79 


At the butts, during the first part of the 
manoeuvre, each battery worked on its own 
account, under the orders of the captain ; but 
he often relinquished the place to one of his 
lieutenants, in order to accustom them to the 
management of the six field-pieces. It hap- 
pened on this day that the command was in- 
trusted to the hands of Jean. To the great 
surprise of the captain, in whose estimation 
his lieutenant held the first rank as a well- 
trained, smart, and capable officer, everything 
went wrong. The captain was obliged to in- 
terfere ; he addressed a little reprimand to 
Jean, which terminated in these words : 

“ I cannot understand it at all. What is the 
matter with you this morning ? It is the first 
time such a thing has happened with you.” 

It was also the first time that Jean had seen 
anything at the butts at Souvigny but cannon, 
ammunition-wagons, horses, or gunners. 

In the clouds of dust raised by the wheels of 
the wagons and the hoofs of the horses Jean 
beheld, not the second mounted battery of the 
ninth regiment of artillery, but the distinct 
images of two American women with black 
eyes and golden hair ; and, at the moment 
when he listened respectfully to the well-merited 


8o 


lecture from his captain, he was in the act of 
saying to himself : 

“ The prettier is Mrs. Scott ! ” 

Every morning the exercise is divided into 
two parts by a little interval of ten minutes. 
The officers gathered together and talked ; 
Jean remained apart, alone with his recollec- 
tions of the previous evening. His thoughts 
obstinately gathered round the vicarage of 
Longueval. 

“ Yes ! the more charming of the two sisters 
was Mrs. Scott ; Miss Percival was only a 
child.” 

He again saw Mrs. Scott at the Cure’s little 
table. He heard her story told with such 
frankness, such freedom. The harmony of 
of that very peculiar, very fas» lating voice, 
still enchanted his ear. He was again in the 
church; she was there before h.m, bending 
over her prie-Dieu, her pretty head resting in 
her two little hands; then the music arose, 
and far off, in the dusk, Jean perceived Bettina’s 
fine and delicate profile. 

‘‘ A child — was she only a child } ” 

The trumpets sounded, the practice recom- 
menced ; this time, fortunately, no command, 
no responsibility. The four batteries executed 


their evolutions together ; this immense mass of 
men, horses, and carriages, deployed in every 
direction, now drawn out in a long line, again 
collected into a compact group. All stopped 
at the same instant along the whole extent of 
the ground ; the gunners sprang from their 
horses, ran to their pieces, detached each from 
its team, which went off at a trot, and pre- 
pared to fire with amazing rapidity. Then 
the horses returned, the men re-attached their 
pieces, sprang quickly to saddle, and the regi- 
ment started at full gallop across the field. 

Very gently in the thoughts of Jean, Bettina 
regained her advantage over Mrs. Scott. She 
appeared to him smiling and blushing amid 
the sun-lit clouds of her floating hair. Mon- 
sieur Jean, she had called him — Monsieur 
Jean ; and never had his name sounded so 
sweet. And that last pressure of the hand on 
taking leave, before entering the carriage. 
Had not Miss Percival given him a more cor- 
dial clasp than Mrs. Scott had done? Yes, 
positively a little more. 

“ I was mistaken,’* thought Jean ; “ the 
prettier is Miss Percival.” 

The day’s work was finished ; the pieces 
were ranged regularly in line one behind the 
6 


82 




other; they defiled rapidly, with a horrible 
clatter and in a cloud of dust. When Jean, 
sword in hand, passed before his colonel, the 
images of the two sisters were so confused and 
intermingled in his recollection that they 
melted the one in the other, and became in 
some measure the image of one and the same 
person. Any parallel became impossible be- 
tween them, thanks to this singular confusion 
of the two points of comparison. Mrs. Scott 
and Miss Percival remained thus inseparable 
in the thoughts of Jean until the day when it 
was granted to him to see them again. The 
impression of that meeting was not effaced ; it 
was always there, persistent, and very sweet, 
till Jean began to feel disturbed. 

“Is it possible” — so ran his meditations 
— “ is it possible that I have been guilty of the 
folly of falling in love madly at first sight ? 
No ; one might fall in love with a woman, but 
not with two women at once.” 

That thought reassured him. He was very 
young, this great fellow of four-and-twenty ; 
never had love entered fully into his heart. 
Love ! He knew very little about it, except 
from books, and he had read but few of them. 
But he was no angel ; he could find plenty of 


83 


attractions in the “ grisettes ” of Souvigny, and 
when they would allow him to tell them that 
they were charming he was quite ready to do 
so, but it had never entered his head to re- 
gard as love those passing fancies, which only 
caused the slightest and most superficial dis- 
turbance in his heart. 

Paul de Lavardens had marvellous powers 
of enthusiasm and idealization. His heart 
sheltered always two or three “grandes pas- 
sions,” which lived there in perfect harmony. 
Paul had been so clever as to discover, in 
this little town of fifteen thousand souls, num- 
bers of pretty girls, all made to be adored. 
He always believed himself the discoverer of 
America, when, in fact he had done nothing 
but follow in the track of other navigators. 

The world — Jean had scarcely encountered 
it. He had allowed himself to be dragged by 
Paul, a dozen times, perhaps, to soirees or 
balls at the great houses of the neighborhood. 
He had invariably returned thoroughly bored, 
and had concluded that these pleasures were 
not made for him. His tastes were simple, 
serious. He loved solitude, work, long walks, 
open spaces, horses, and books. He was a son 
of nature — somewhat of a peasant. He loved 


84 


his village, and all the old friends of his child- 
hood. A quadrille in a drawing-room caused 
him unspeakable terror ; but every year, at the 
festival of the patron saint of Longueval, he 
danced gayly with the young girls and farmers’ 
daughters of the neighborhood. 

If he had seen Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival 
at home in Paris, in all the splendor of their 
luxury, in all the perfection of their costly sur- 
roundings, he would have looked at them from 
afar, with curiosity, as exquisite works of art. 
Then he would have returned home, and 
would have slept, as usual, the most peaceful 
slumber in the world. 

Yes, but it was not thus that the thing had 
come to pass, and hence his excitement, hence 
his disturbance. These two women had 
shown themselves before him in the midst of 
a circle with which he was familiar, and 
w’hich had been, if only for this reason, sin- 
gularly favorable to them. Simple, good, frank, 
cordial, such they had shown themselves the 
very first day, and delightfully pretty into the 
bargain — a fact which is never insignificant. 
Jean fell at once under the charm ; he was 
there still! 

At the moment when he dismounted in the 


8s 


barrack-yard, at nine o’clock, the old priest 
began his campaign joyously. Since the pre- 
vious evening the Abbd’s head had been on 
fire ; Jean had not slept much, but he had not 
slept at all. He had risen very early, and with 
closed doors, alone with Pauline, he had 
counted and re-counted his money, spreading 
on the table his hundred “ louis d’or,” gloating 
over them like a miser, and like a miser find- 
ing exquisite pleasure in handling his hoard. 
All that was his ! for him ! — that is to say, for 
the poor. 

Do not be to lavish. Monsieur le Curd,” 
said Pauline ; “ be economical. I think that 
if you distribute to-day a hundred francs — ” 

“ That is not enough, Pauline. I shall only 
have one such day in my life, but one I will 
have. How much do you think I shall give to- 
day?” 

“ How much. Monsieur le Curd ? ” 

“A thousand francs ! ” 

“ A thousand francs ! ! ” 

“ Yes. We are millionaires ; now we possess 
all the treasures of America, and you talk 
about economy ? Not to-day, at all events ; 
indeed, I have no right to think of it.” 

After saying mass; at nine o’clock he set out 


86 


and showered gold along his way. All had a 
share — the poor who acknowledged their pov- 
erty and those who concealed it. Each alms 
was accompained by the same little discourse : 

“ This comes from the new owners of Lon- 
gueval — two American ladies, Mrs. Scott and 
and Miss Percival. Remember their names 
and pray for them.” 

Then he made off without waiting for 
thanks, across the fields, through the woods, 
from hamlet to hamlet, from cottage to cottage 
— on, on, on. A sort of intoxication mounted 
to his brain. Everywhere were cries of joy and 
astonishment. All these “ louis d’or ” fell, as 
if by a miracle, into the poor hands accustomed 
to receive little pieces of silver. The Cure 
was guilty of follies, actual follies. He was 
out bonds : he did not recognize himself ; 
he had lost all control over himself ; he even 
gave to those who did not ask anythingv 

He met Claud Rigel, the old sergeant, who 
had left one of his arms at Sevastopol. He was 
growing gray — nay, white, for time passes, and 
the soldiers of the Crimea will soon be old 
men. 

“ Here,” said the Cure, “ I have twenty 
francs for you.” 


87 


“Twenty francs ! But I never asked for 
anything ; I don’t want anything ; I have my 
pension.” 

His pension ! Seven hundred francs ! 

“ Very good ! It will be something to buy 
you cigars. Listen ; it comes from America.” 

And then followed the Abba’s little speech 
about the new owners of Longueval. 

He went to a poor woman, whose son had 
just gone to Tunis. 

“ Well, how is your son getting on ? ” 

“Not so bad, Monsieur le Curd; I had a 
letter from him yesterday. He does not com- 
plain, he is very well, only he says there are 
no Kroomirs. Poor boy ! I have been sav- 
ing for a month, and I think I shall soon be 
able to send him ten francs ! ” 

“ You shall send him thirty. Take this.” 

“Twenty francs ! Monsieur le Curb, you give 
me tw’enty francs ? ” 

“ Yes, that is for you.” 

“ For my boy ? ” 

“ For your boy. But listen ; you must know 
from whom it comes, and you must take care 
to tell your son when you write to him.” 

Again the little speech about Mrs. Scott and 
Miss Percival, and again the adjuration to re- 


88 


member them in their prayers. At six o’clock 
he returned home exhausted with fatigue, but 
with his soul filled with joy. 

“ I have given away all ! ” he cried, as soon 
as he saw Pauline ; “ all ! all ! all ! ” 

He dined, and then went in the evening 
to perform the usual service for the month of 
Mary. But this time the harmonium was 
silent ; Miss Percival was no longer there. 

The little organist of the evening before, was 
at that moment much perplexed. On two 
couches in her dressing-room were spread two 
dresses, — a white and a blue. Bettina was 
meditating which of these two dresses she 
would wear to go to the Opera that evening. 
After long hesitation she fixed on the white. 
At half-past nine the two sisters ascended the 
grand staircase at the Opera House. Just as 
they entered their box the curtain rose on the 
second scene of the second act of that 

containing the ballet and march. 

Two young men, Roger de Puymartin and 
Louis de Martillet, were seated in the front of 
a stage-box. The young ladies of the corps 
de ballet had not yet appeared, and these 
gentlemen, having no occupation, were amusing 
themselves with looking about the house. The 


(Kottjsitanfitt. 89 

appearance of Miss Percival made a strong 
impression upon both. 

“ Ah ! ah ! ” said Puymartin, “ there she is, 
the little golden nugget ! ” 

“ She is perfectly dazzling this evening, this 
little golden nugget,’^ continued Martillet. 
“ Look at her, at the line of her neck, the fall 
of her shoulders, — still a young girl, and 
already a woman.” 

“ Yes, she is charming, and tolerably well off 
into the bargain.” 

“ Fifteen millions of her own, and the silver 
mine is still productive.” 

Berulle told me twenty-five millions, and 
he is very well up in American affairs.” 

“ Twenty-five millions ! A pretty haul for 
Romanelli ! ” 

“What! Romanelli?” 

“ Report says that that will be a match ; 
that it is already settled.” 

“ A match may be arranged, but with Mon- 
tessan, not with Romanelli. Ah ! at last ! 
Here is the ballet.” 

They ceased to talk. The ballet in Aida lasts 
only five minutes, and for those five minutes 
they had come. Consequently they must be 
enjoyed respectfully, religiously, for it is a 


90 


WJxt 

peculiarity among a number of the habituks of 
the Opera, that they chatter like magpies when 
they ought to be silent, to listen, and that they 
observe the most absolute silence when they 
might be allowed to speak, while looking on. 

The trumpets of “ Aida ” had given their 
last heroic fanfare in honor of Radames before 
the great sphinxes under the green foliage of 
the palm-trees, the dancers advanced, the light 
trembling on their spangled robes, and took 
possession of the stage. 

With much attention and pleasure Mrs. 
Scott followed the evolutions of the ballet, but 
Bettina had suddenly become thoughtful, on 
perceiving in a box, on the other side of the 
house, a tall, dark young man. Miss Percival 
talked to herself, and said : 

‘'What shall I do? What shall I decide 
on ? Must I marry him, that handsome, tall 
fellow over there, who is watching me, . . . 
for he is looking at me ? He will come into 
our box as soon as this act is over, and then I 
have only to say, ‘ I have decided ; here is my 
hand ; I will be your wife,’ and then all would 
be settled ! I should be Princess ! Princess 
Romanelli ! Princess Bettina ! Bettina Ro- 
manelli ! The names go well together ; they 


91 


sound very pretty. Would it amuse me to be 
a Princess.? Yes — and no! Amongst all the 
young men in Paris who during the last year 
have run after my money, this Prince Ro- 
manelli is the one who pleases me best. One 
of these days I must make up my mind to 
marry. I think he loves me. Yes, but the 
question is, do I love him ? No, I don’t think 
I do, and I should so much like to love — so 
much, so much ! ” 

At the precise moment when these reflections 
were passing through Bettina’s pretty head, 
Jean, alone in his study, seated before his 
desk with a great book under the shade of 
his lamp, looking through the history of 
Turenne’s campaigns, was taking notes. He 
had been directed to give a course of in- 
struction to the non-commissioned officers of 
the regiment, and was prudently preparing his 
lesson for the next day. 

But in the midst of his notes — Nordlingen, 
1645 ; les Dunes, 1658 ; Mulhausen and Turck- 
heim, 1674 — 1675 — he suddenly perceived 
(Jean did not draw very badly) a sketch, a 
woman’s portrait, which all at once appeared 
under his pen. What was she doing there, 
in the middle of Turenne’s victories, that pretty 


92 


little woman ? And then who was she — Mrs. 
Scott or Miss Percival ? How could he tell ? 
They resembled each other so much ; and 
laboriously, painfully, Jean returned to the 
history of the campaigns of Turenne. 

And at the same moment the Abbe Con- 
stantin, on his knees before his little wooden 
bedstead, was calling down, with all the strength 
of his soul, the blessings of Heaven on the two 
women through whose bounty he had passed 
such a sweet and happy day. He prayed God 
to bless Mrs. Scott in her children, and to 
give to Miss Percival a husband after her own 
heart. 




93 


CHAPTER V. 

Formerly Paris belonged to the Parisians, 
and that at no very, remote period, — thirty or 
forty years ago. At that epoch the French 
were the masters of Paris, as the English are 
the masters of London, the Spaniards of 
Madrid, and the Russians of St. Petersburg. 
Those times are no more. Other countries 
still have their frontiers ; there are now none 
to France. Paris has become an immense 
Babel, a universal and international city. 
Foreigners do not come merely to visit Paris ; 
they come there to live. At the present day 
we have in Paris a Russian colony, a Spanish 
colony, a Levantine colony, an American 
colony. The foreigners have already conquered 
from us the greater part of the Champs- Elysdes 
and the Boulevard Malesherbes ; they advance ; 
they extend their outworks ; we retreat, pressed 
back by the invaders ; we are obliged to 
expatriate ourselves. We have begun to found 


94 


©hie g^hhe 

Parisian colonies in the plains of Passy, in the 
plain of Monceau, in quarters which formerly 
were not Paris at all, and which are not quite 
even now. Amongst the foreign colonies, the 
richest, the most populous, the most brilliant, 
is the American colony. There is a moment 
when an American feels himself rich enough ; 
a Frenchman, never. The American then 
stops, draws breath, and while still husbanding 
the capital, no longer spares the income. He 
knows how to spend ; the Frenchman knows 
only how to save. 

The Frenchman has only one real luxury, — 
his revolutions. Prudently and wisely he 
reserves himself for them, knowing well that 
they will cost France dear, but that, at the same 
time, they will furnish the opportunity for 
advantageous investments. The Frenchman 
says to himself : 

“ Let us hoard ! let us hoard ! let us hoard ! 
Some of these mornings there will be a revolu- 
tion, which will make the five per cents fall 
fifty or sixty francs. I will buy then. Since 
revolutions are inevitable, let us try at least to 
make them profitable.” 

They are always talking about the people 
who are ruined by revolutions, but perhaps the 


number of those enriched by revolutions is 
still greater. 

The Americans experience the attraction of 
Paris very strongly. There is no town in the 
world where it is easier or more agreeable to 
spend a great deal of money. For many rea- 
sons, both of race and origin, this attraction 
exercised over Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival a 
very remarkable power. 

The most French of our colonies is Canada, 
which is, no longer ours. The recollection -of 
their first home has been preserved faithfully 
and tenderly in the hearts of the emigrants to 
Montreal and Quebec. Suzie Percival had 
received from her mother an entirely French 
education, and she had brought up her sister 
in the same love of our country. The two 
sisters felt themselves Frenchwomen ; still 
better, Parisians. As soon as the avalanche 
of dollars had descended upon them, the same 
desire seized them both, — to come and live in 
Paris. They demanded France as if it had 
been their fatherland. Mr. Scott made some 
opposition. 

If I go away from here,’^ he said, ** your 
incomes will suffer.” 

“What does that matter?” replied Suzie, 


96 


“ We are rich — too rich. Do let us go. We 
shall be so happy, so delighted ! ” 

Mr. Scott allowed himself to be persuaded, 
and at the beginning of January, 1880, Suzie 
wrote the following letter to her friend, Katie 
Norton, who had lived in Paris for some 
years : 

“ Victory ! It is decided ! Richard has 
consented. I shall arrive in April, and become 
a Frenchwoman again. You offered to under- 
take all the preparations for our settlement in 
Paris. I am horribly presuming — I accept! 
When I arrive in Paris, I should like to be 
able to enjoy Paris, and not be obliged to lose 
my first month in running after upholsterers, 
coach-builders, horse-dealers. I should like, 
on arriving at the railway station, to find await- 
ing me my carriage, my coachman, my horses. 
That very day I should like you to dine with 
me at my home. Hire or buy a mansion, engage 
the servants, choose the horses, the carriages, 
the liveries. I depend entirely upon you. 
As long as the liveries are blue, that is the 
only point. This line is added at Bettina’s 
request. 

“We shall bring only seven persons with us. 
Richard will have his valet, Bettina and I two 


97 


ladies’-maids ; then there are the two govern- 
esses for the children, and, besides these two 
grooms, Toby and Bobby, who ride to perfec- 
tion. We should never find in Paris such a 
perfect pair. 

“ Everything else, people and things, we 
shall leave in New York. No, not quite every- 
thing ; I had forgotten four little ponies, four 
little gems, black as ink. We have not the 
heart to leave them ; we shall drive them in a 
phaeton ; it is delightful. Both Bettina and I 
drive four-in-hand very well. Ladies can drive 
four-in-hand in the ‘ Bois * very early in the 
morning, can’t they ? Here it is quite possi- 
ble. 

“ Above all, my dear Katie, do not consider 
money. Be as extravagant as you like, that is 
all I ask.” 

The same day that Mrs. Norton received 
this letter witnessed the failure of a certain 
Oarneville. He was a great speculator who 
had been on a false scent. Stocks had fallen 
just when he had expected a rise. This Garne- 
ville had, six weeks before, installed himself 
in a brand-new house, which had no other 
fault than a too startling magnificence. 

Mrs. Norton signed an agreement — one hun- 

7 


98 

dred thousand francs a year, with the option 
of buying house and furniture for two millions 
during the first year of possession. A famous 
upholsterer undertook to correct and subdue 
the exaggerated splendor of a loud and gorgeous 
luxury. 

That done, Mrs. Scott’s friend had the good 
fortune to lay her hand on two of those eminent 
artists without whom the routine of a great 
house can neither be established nor carried on. 
The first, a chtfot the first rank, who had just 
left an ancient mansion of the Faubourg St.- 
Germain, to his great regret, for he had aristo- 
cratic inclinations. 

“ Never,” said he to Mrs. Norton, — “ never 
would I have left the service of Madame la 
Duchesse if she had kept up her establishment 
on the same footing as formerly ; but Madame 
la Duchesse has four children, — two sons who 
have run through a good deal, and two daughters 
who will soon be of an age to many’^ ; they 
must have their dowries. Therefore Madame 
la Duchesse is obliged to draw in a little, and 
the house is no longer important enough for 
me.” 

This distinguished character, of course, made 
his conditions. Though excessive, they did 


99 


not alarm Mrs. Norton, who knew that he was 
a man of the most serious merit ; but he, before 
deciding, asked permission to telegraph to 
New York. He wished to make certain in- 
quiries. The reply was favorable ; he accepted. 

The second great artist was a stud-groom of 
the rarest and highest capacity, who was just 
about to retire after having made his fortune. 
He consented, however, to organize the stables 
for Mrs. Scott. It was thoroughly understood 
that he should have every liberty in purchasing 
the horses ; that he should wear no livery ; that 
he should choose the coachmen, the grooms, 
and every one connected with the stables ; that 
he should never have less than fifteen horses 
in the stables, that no bargain should be made 
with the coach-builder or saddler without his 
intervention ; and that he should never mount 
the box, except early in the morning, in plain 
clothes, to give lessons in driving to the ladies 
and children, if necessary. 

The cook took possession of his stores, and 
the stud-groom of his stables. Everything else 
was only a question of money,and with regard to 
this Mrs. Norton made full use of her extensive 
powers. She acted in conformity with the 
instructions she had received. In the short 


lOO 


Wixt g^lrUrie 

space of two months she performed prodigies, 
and that is how, when, on the 15th of April, 
1880, Mr. Scott, Suzie, and Bettina alighted 
from the mail train from Havre, at half-past 
four in the afternoon, they found Mrs. Norton 
at the station of St. Lazarre, who said ; 

“ Your calbche is there in the yard ; behind 
it is a landau for the children ; and behind the 
landau is an omnibus for the servants. The 
three carriages bear your monogram, are driven 
by your coachmen, and drawn by your horses. 
Your address is 24 Rue Murillo, and here is 
the menu of your dinner to-night. You invit- 
ed me two months ago ; I accept, and will even 
take the liberty of bringing a dozen friends 
with me. I shall furnish everything, even the 
guests. But do not be alarmed; you know 
them all : they are mutual friends, and this 
evening we shall be able to judge of the merits 
of your cook.’^ 

The first Parisian who had the honor and 
pleasure of paying homage to the beauty of 
Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival was a little 
** marmiton ” or baker’s boy of fifteen years old, 
who stood there in his white clothes, his 
wicker basket on his head, just as Mrs. Scott’s 
carriage, entangled in the multitude of vehi- 


lOI 


cles, was slowly working its way out of the 
station. The baker’s boy stopped short on the 
pavement, opened wide his eyes, looked at the 
two sisters with amazement, and boldly cast 
full in their faces the single word : 

Mazette r' 

When Madame Recamier saw her first wrin- 
kles and first gray hairs, she said to a friend — 

“ Ah ! my dear, there are no more illusions 
left for me ! From the day when I saw that the 
little chimney-sweeps no longer turned round 
in the street to look at me, I understood that 
all was over.” 

The opinion of confectioners’ boys is, in 
similar cases, of equal value with the opinion 
of the little chimney-sweeps. All was not over 
for Suzie and Bettina ; on the contrary, all was 
only beginning. 

Five minutes later, Mrs. Scott’s carriage 
was ascending the Boulevard Haussmann to 
the slow and measured trot of a pair of admi- 
rable horses. Paris counted two Parisians the 
more. 

The success of Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival 
was immediate, decisive, like a flash of light- 
ning. The beauties of Paris are not classed 
and catalogued like the beauties of London ; 


102 


they do not publish their portraits in the il- 
lustrated papers, or allow their photograph to 
be sold at the stationers’. However, there is 
always a little staif, consisting of a score of 
women, who represent the grace, and charm, 
and beauty of Paris, which women, after ten or 
twelve years’ service, pass into the reserve, just 
like the old generals. Suzie and Bettina imme- 
diately became part of this little staff. It was an 
affair of four-and-twenty hours — of less than 
four-and-twenty hours, for all passed betw^een 
-eight in the morning and midnight the day 
after their arrival in Paris. 

Imagine a sort of little in three 

acts, the success of which increases from tab- 
leau to tableau. 

I St. A ride at ten in the morning in the 
Bois, with the two marvellous grooms import- 
ed from America. 

2d. A walk at six o’clock in the “ Allde des 
Acacias.” 

3d. An appearance at the Opera at ten in 
the evening in Mrs. Norton’s box. 

The two new-comers were immediately re- 
marked, and appreciated as they deserved to 
be, by the thirty or forty persons who consti- 
tute a sort of mysterious tribunal, and who, 


in the name of all Paris, pass sentences beyond 
appeal. These thirty or forty persons have 
from time to time the fancy to declare “ deli- 
cious ’’ some woman who is manifestly ugly. 
That is enough ; she is “ delicious ” from that 
moment. 

The beauty of the two sisters was un- 
questionable. In the morning it was their 
grace, their elegance, their distinction that at- 
tracted universal admiration ; in the afternoon 
it was declared that their walk had the freedom 
and ease of two young goddesses ; in the 
evening there was but one cry of rapture at the 
ideal perfection of their shoulders. From 
that moment all Paris had for the two sisters 
the eyes of the little “ marmiton ” of the Rue 
d’ Amsterdam ; all Paris repeated his “ Ma- 
zette,” though naturally with the variations and 
developments imposed by the usages of the 
world. 

Mrs. Scott’s drawing-room immediately be- 
came the fashion. The habitu'es of three or four 
great American houses transferred themselves 
in a body to the Scotts’, who had three hundred 
persons at their first Wednesday. Their circle 
rapidly increased ; there was a little of every- 
thing to be found in their set, — Americans, 


104 

Spaniards, Italians, Hungarians, Russians, 
and even Parisians. 

When she had related her story to the Abb^ 
Constantin, Mrs. Scott had not told all — one 
never does tell all. In a word, she was a 
coquette. Mr. Scott had the most perfect 
confidence in his wife, and left her entire 
liberty. He was very little seen ; he was an 
honorable man, who felt a vague embarrass- 
ment at having made such a marriage, at 
having married so much money. Having a 
taste for business, he had great pleasure in 
devoting himself entirely to the administering 
of the two immense fortunes which were in his 
hands, in continually increasing them, and 
in saying every year to his wife and sister-in- 
law : 

“ You are still richer than you were last 
year ! ’’ 

Not content with watching with much pru- 
dence and ability over the interests which he 
had left in America, he launched in France into 
large speculations, and was as successful in 
Paris as he had been in New York. In order 
to make money, the first thing is to have no 
need of it. 

They made love to Mrs. Scott to an enor- 


mous extent ; they made love to her in French, 
in Italian, in English, in Spanish, for she knew 
those four languages, and there is one advan- 
tage that foreigners have over our poor Paris- 
ians, who generally know only their mother 
tongue, and have not the resource of interna- 
tional passions. 

Naturally Mrs. Scott did not chase her 
adorers from her presence. She had ten, 
twenty, thirty at a time. No one could boast 
of any preference ; to all she opposed the same 
amiable, laughing, joyous resistance. It was 
clear to all that the game amused her, and 
that she did not for a moment take it 
seriously. Mr. Scott never felt a moment’s 
anxiety, and he was perfectly right. More, he 
enjoyed his wife’s successes; he was happy in 
seeing her happy. He loved her dearly — a 
little more than she loved him. She loved 
him very much, and that was all. There is a 
great difference between dearly and very much 
when these two adverbs are placed after the 
verb to love. 

As to Bettina, around her was a maddening 
whirl, an orgy of adulation ! Such a fortune 1 
such beauty ! Miss Percival arrived in Paris 
on the 15th of April; a fortnight had not 


io6 

passed before the offers of marriage began to 
pour upon her. In the course of that first 
year she might, had she wished it, have been 
married thirty-four times, and to what a variety 
suitors ! 

Her hand was asked for a young exile, who, 
under certain circumstances, might be called 
to ascend a throne — a very small one, it is true, 
but a throne nevertheless. 

Her hand was asked for a young Duke, who 
would make a great figure at Court when 
France — as was inevitable — should recognize 
her errors, and bow down before her legitimate 
masters. 

Her hand was asked for a young Prince, who 
would have a place on the steps of the throne 
when France — as was inevitable — should again 
knit together the chain of the Napoleonic 
traditions. 

Her hand was asked for a young Republican 
deputy, who had just made a brilliant 
in the Chamber, and for whom the future 
reserved the most splendid destiny, for the 
Republic was now established in France on 
the most indestructible basis. 

Her hand was asked for a young Spaniard 
of the purest lineage, and she was given to un- 


derstand that the contrat would be signed in 
the palace of a queen who does not live far 
from the Arc de I’Etoile. Besides, one can 
find her address in the “Almanach Bottin,’^ 
for at the present day there are queens who 
have their address in Bottin between an at- 
torney and a druggist ; it is only the kings of 
France who no longer live in France. 

Her hand was asked for the son of a peer of 
England, and for the son of a member of the 
highest Viennese aristocracy ; for the son of a 
Parisian banker, and for the son of a Russian 
ambassador ; for a Hungarian Count, and for 
an Italian Prince ; and also for various excel- 
lent young men who were nothing and had 
nothing — neither name nor fortune ; but Bet- 
tina had granted them a waltz, and, believ- 
ing themselves irresistible, they hoped that 
they had caused a flutter of that little 
heart. 

But up to the present moment nothing had 
touched that little heart, and the reply had 
been the same to all, — “ No ! ” “ No ! ” again 
“ No ! ” always “ No ! ” 

Some days after that performance of Aida, 
the two sisters had a rather long conversation 
on this great, this eternal question of marriage.. 


io8 

A certain name had been pronounced by 
Mrs. Scott which had provoked on the part of 
Miss Percival the most decided and most en- 
ergetic refusal, and*Suzie had laughingly said 
to her sister : 

But, Bettina, you will be obliged to end 
by marrying.” 

“Yes, certainly, but I should be so sorry to 
marry without love. It seems to me that be- 
fore I could resolve to do such a thing I must 
be in danger of dying an old maid, and I am 
not yet that.” 

“ No, not yet.” 

“ Let us wait, let us wait.” 

“ Let us wait. But among all these lovers 
whom you have been dragging after you for 
the last year, there have been some very nice, 
very amiable, and it is really a little strange if 
none of them — ” 

“ Not one, my Suzie, not one ; absolutely not 
one. Why should I not tell you the truth? 
Is it their fault ? Have they gone unskilfully 
to work? Could they, in managing better, 
have found the way to my heart ? or is the fault 
in me ? Is it, perhaps, that the way to my heart 
is a steep, rocky, inaccessible way, by which 
no one will ever pass ? Am I a horrid little 


creature, arid, cold, and condemned never to 
love?^’ 

“ I do not think so.” 

“ Neither do I, but up to the present time 
that is my history. No, I have never felt any- 
thing which resembled love. You are laugh- 
ing, and I can guess why. You are saying to 
yourself, ‘ A little girl like that pretending to 
know what love is ! ^ You are right ; I do not 
know, but I have a pretty good idea. To love 
— is it not to prefer to all in the world one 
certain person ? 

“ Yes ; it is really that.” 

“ Is it not never to weary of seeing that 
person, or of hearing him ? Is it not to cease 
to live when he is not there, and to immedi- 
ately begin to revive when he reappears ? ” 

“ Oh ! but this is romantic love.” 

“ Well, that is the love of which I dream, 
and that is the love which does not come — 
not at all till now ; and yet that person pre- 
ferred by me to all and everything does exist. 
Do you know who it is ? ” 

“ No, I do not know ; I do not know, but I 
have a little suspicion.” 

“ Yes, it is you, my dearest ; and it is per- 
haps you, naughty sister, who makes me so 


no 


insensible and cruel on this point. I love you 
too much ; you fill my heart ; you have occupied 
it entirely ; there is no room for any one else. 
Prefer any one to you ! love any one more than 
you ! That will never, never be ! ” 

“ Oh, yes, it will ! ” 

“ Oh, no ! Love differently, perhaps, but 
more — no. He must not count upon that, 
this gentleman whom I expect, and who does, 
not arrive.” 

“ Do not be afraid, my Betty ; there is room 
in your heart for all whom you should love, — 
for your husband, for your children, and that 
without your old sister losing anything. The 
heart is very little, but it is also very large.” 

Bettina tenderly kissed her sister ; then 
resting her head coaxingly on Suzie’s shoulder, 
she said : 

If, however, you are tired of keeping me 
with you, if you are in a hurry to get rid of 
me, do you know what I will do } I will put 
the names of two of these gentlemen in a 
basket, and draw lots. There are two who at 
the last extremity would not be absolutely dis* 
agreeable.” 

“Which two?” 

“ Guess.” 


m 


5i;hie 

“ Prince Romanelli.” 

“ For one ! And the other ? ” 

“ Monsieur de Montessan.” 

“ Those are the two ! It is just that. 
Those two would be acceptab/e, but only 
acceptable, and that is not enough.’^ 

This is why Bettina awaited with extreme 
impatience the day when they should leave 
Paris, and take up their abode in Longueval. 
She was a little tired of so much pleasure, so 
much success, so many offers of marriage. 
The whirlpool of Parisian gayety had seized 
her on her arrival, and would not let her go, 
not for one hour of halt or rest. She felt the 
need of being given up to herself for a few 
days, to herself alone, to consult and question 
herself at her leisure, in the complete solitude 
of the country — in a word, to belong to herself 
again. 

So was not Bettina all sprightly and joyous 
when, on the 14th of June, they took the noon 
train for Longueval ? As soon as she was 
alone in a compartment with her sister — 

“ Ah,” she cried, “ how happy I am ! Let 
us breathe a little, quite alone, you and me, 
for a few days. The Nortons and Turners do 
not come till the 25th, do they ? ” 


II2 




“ No, not till the 25th.” 

“ We will pass our lives riding or driving in 
the woods, in the fields. Ten days of liberty ! 
And during those ten days no more lovers, 
no more lovers ! And all those lovers, with 
what are they in love, — with me or my money ? 
That is the mystery, the unfathomable mys- 
tery.” 

The engine whistled ; the train put itself 
slowly into motion. A wild idea entered 
Bettina’s head. She leant out of the window 
and cried, accompanying her words with a little 
wave of the hand : 

“ Good-bye, my lovers, good-bye ! ” 

Then she threw herself suddenly into a 
corner of the compartment with a hearty burst 
of laughter. 

Oh ! Suzie, Suzie ! ” 

What is the matter ? ” 

“ A man with a red flag in his hand ; he 
saw me, and he looked so astonished.” 

“You are so irrational ! ” 

“ Yes, it is true, to have called out of the 
window like that, but not to be happy at 
thinking that we are going to live alone, en 
^arfons” 

“Alone! alone! Not exactly that. To 


begin with, we shall have two people to dinner 
to-night.’’ 

“ Ah ! that is true. But those two people, 
I shall not be at all sorry to see them again. 
Yes, I shall be very pleased to see the old 
Cure again, but especially the young officer.” 

“What! especially?” 

“ Certainly ; because what the lawyer from 
Souvigny told us the other day is so touching, 
and what that great artilleryman did when he 
was quite little was so good, so good, that this 
evening I shall seek for an opportunity of 
telling him what I think of it, and I shall find 
one.” 

Then Bettina, abruptly changing the course 
of the conversation, continued : 

“ Did they send the telegram yesterday to 
Edwards about the ponies ? ” 

“Yes, yesterday before dinner.” 

“ Oh ! you will let me drive them up to the 
house. It will be such fun to go through the 
town, and to drive up at full speed into the 
court in front of the entrance. Tell me, will 
you?” 

“ Yes, certainly, you shall drive the ponies.” 

“ Oh, how nice of you, Suzie ! ” 

Edwards was the stud-groom. He had 

8 


1 14 

arrived at Longueval three days before. He 
deigned to come himself to meet Mrs. Scott 
and Miss Percival. He brought the phaeton 
drawn by the four black ponies. He was 
waiting at the station. The passage of the 
ponies though the principal street of the town 
had made a sensation. The population rushed 
out of their houses, and asked eagerly : 

“ What is it ? What can it be ? ” 

Some ventured the opinion : 

“ It is, perhaps, a travelling circus. 

But exclamations arose on all sides : 

“ You did not notice the style of it — the 
carriage and the harness shining like gold, and 
the little horses with white rosettes on each 
side of their heads.” 

The crowd collected around the station, and 
those who were curious learnt that they were 
going to witness the arrival of the new owners 
of Longueval. They were slightly disen- 
chanted when the two sisters appeared, very 
pretty, but in very simple travelling-costumes. 
These good people had almost expected the 
apparition of two princesses out of fairy tales, 
clad in silk and brocade, sparkling with rubies 
and diamonds. But they opened wide their 
eyes when they saw Bettina walk slowly round 


the four ponies, caressing one after the other 
lightly with her hand, and examining all the 
details of the team with the air of a connois- 
seur. 

Having made her inspection, Bettina, without 
the least hurry, drew olf her long Swedish 
gloves, and replaced them by a pair of dog- 
skin which she took from the pocket of the 
carriage apron. Then she slipped on to the 
box in the place of Edwards, receiving from 
him the reins and whip with extreme dexterity, 
without allowing the already excited horses to 
perceive that they had changed hands. 

Mrs. Scott seated herself beside her sister. 
The ponies pranced, curvetted, and threatened 
to rear. 

“ Be very careful, mademoiselle, ” said 
Edwards ; “ the ponies are very fresh to-day.’^ 

“ Do not be afraid,” replied Bettina. “ I 
know them.” 

Miss Percival had a hand at once very firm, 
very light, and very just. She held in the 
ponies for a few moments, forcing them to 
keep their own places ; then, waving the long 
thong of her whip round the leaders, she started 
her little team at once, with incomparable skill, 
and left the station with an air of triumph, in 


ii6 WU 

the midst of a long murmur of astonishment 
and admiration. 

The trot of the black ponies rang on the 
little oval paving-stones of Souvigny. Bettina 
held them well together until she had left the 
town, but as soon as she saw before her a 
clear mile and a half of high-road — almost on 
a dead level — ^she let them gradually increase 
their speed, till they went like the wind. 

“ Oh, how happy I am, Suzie ! ” cried she ; 
“ and we shall trot and gallop all alone on 
these roads. Suzie, would you like to drive ? 
It is such a delight when one can let them go 
at full speed. They are so spirited and so 
gentle. Come, take the reins.” 

“No; keep them. It is a greater pleasure 
to me to see you happy.” 

“ Oh ! as to that, I am perfectly happy. I 
do like so much to drive four-in-hand with 
plenty of space before me. At Paris, even in 
the morning, I did not dare to any longer. I 
was stared at so, it annoyed me. But here— • 
no one ! no one ! no one ! ” 

At the moment when Bettina, already a 
little intoxicated with the bracing air and liberty, 
gave forth triumphantly these three exclama- 
tions, “ No one ! no one ! no one ! ” a rider ap- 




”7 


peared, walking his horse in the direction of the 
carriage. It was Paul de Lavardens. He had 
been watching for more than an hour for the 
pleasure of seeing the Americans pass. 

“ You are mistaken,” said Suzie to Bettina, 
“ there is some one.” 

“ A peasant ; they don’t count ; they won’t 
ask me to marry them.” 

“ It is not a peasant at all. Look ! ” 

Paul de Lavardens, while passing the car- 
riage, made the two sisters a highly correct 
bow, from which one at once scented the 
Parisian. 

The ponies were going at such a rate that 
the meeting was over like a flash of light- 
ning. 

Bettina cried : 

“ Who is that gentleman who has just bowed 
to us ? ” 

“ I had scarcely time to see, but I seemed to 
recognize him.” 

“ You recognized him ? ” 

“Yes, and I would wager that I have seen 
him at our house this winter.” 

“ Heavens ! if it should be one of the thirty- 
four ? Is all that going to begin again ? ” 


ii8 




CHAPTER VI. 

That same day at half-past seven Jean 
went to fetch the Curd, and the two walked 
together up to the house. During the last 
month a perfect army of workmen had taken 
possession of Longueval ; all the inns in the 
village were making their fortunes. Immense 
furniture wagons brought cargoes of furniture 
and decorations from Paris. Forty*^ight hours 
before the arrival of Mrs. Scott, Mademoiselle 
Marbeau, the post-mistress, and Madame 
Lormier, the mayoress, had wormed themselves 
into the castle, and the account they gave of 
the interior turned every one’s head. The old 
furniture had disappeared, banished to the 
attics ; one moved amongst a perfect accumula- 
tion of wonders. And the stables ! and the 
coach-houses ! A special train had brought 
from Paris, under the high superintendence 
of Edwards, a dozen carriages — and such car- 
riages ! Twenty horses — and such horses ! 

The Abbe Constantin thought that he knew 


Wkt 1 19 

what luxury was. Once a year he dined with 
his bishop, Monseigneur Faubert, a rich and 
amiable prelate, who entertained rather largely. 
The Cure, till now, had thought that there was 
nothing in the world more sumptuous than the 
episcopal palace of Souvigny, or the castles 
of Lavardens and Longueval. 

He began to understand, from what he was 
told of the new splendors of Longueval, that 
the luxury of the great houses of the present 
day must surpass to a singular degree the 
sober and severe luxury of the great houses of 
former times. 

As soon as the Cure and Jean had entered 
the avenue in the park, which led to the 
house — 

“Look! Jean,^’ said the Cure; “what a 
change ! All this part of the park used to be 
quite neglected, and now all the paths are 
gravelled and raked. I shall not be able to 
feel myself at home as I used to do ; it will be 
too grand. I shall not find again my old 
brown velvet easy-chair, in which I so often 
fell asleep after dinner ; and if I fall asleep 
this evening what will become of me } You 
will think of it, Jean, and if you see that I 
begin to forget myself, you will come behind 


120 


me and pinch my arm gently, won’t you? 
You promise me ? ” 

“ Certainly, certainly, I promise you.” 

Jean paid but slight attention to the con- 
versation of the Curd. He felt extremely 
impatient to see Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival 
again ; but this impatience was mingled with 
very keen anxiety. Would he find them, in 
the great salon at Longueval, the same as 
he had seen them in the little dining-room at 
the vicarage ? Perhaps, instead of those two 
women, so perfectly simple and familiar, 
amusing themselves with this little improvised 
dinner, and who, the very first day, had 
treated him with so much grace and cordiality, 
perhaps he would find two pretty dolls, — 
worldly, elegant, cold, and correct ? Would 
his first impression be effaced ? Would it 
disappear? or, on the contrary, would the 
impression in his heart become still sweeter 
and deeper ? 

They ascended the six steps at the entrance, 
and were received in the hall by two tall 
footmen of the most dignified and imposing 
appearance. This hall had been a vast, frigid 
apartment, with bare stone walls. These 
walls were now convered with admirable 




I2I 


tapestry, representing mythological subjects. 
The Cure dared scarcely glance at this tapestry ; 
it was enough for him to perceive that the 
goddesses who wandered through these shades 
wore costumes of antique simplicity. 

One of the footmen opened wide the folding- 
doors of the salon. It was there that one had 
generally found the old Marquise, on the 
right of the high chimney-piece, and on the 
left had stood the brown velvet easy-chair. 

No brown easy-chair now ! That old relic 
of the Empire, which was the basis of the 
arrangement of the salon, had been replaced 
by a marvellous specimen of tapestry of the 
end of the last century. Then a crowd of 
little easy-chairs, and ottomans of all forms 
and all colors, were scattered here and there 
with an appearance of disorder which was the 
perfection of art. 

As soon as Mrs. Scott saw the Cure and Jean 
enter, she rose, and going to meet them, said ; 

“How kind of you to come. Monsieur le 
Curd, and you too. Monsieur Jean. How 
pleased I am to see you, my first, my only 
friends down here 1 ” 

Jean breathed again. It was the same 


woman. 


122 


“Will you allow me,” added Mrs. Scott, 
“ to introduce my children to you. Harry and 
Bella, come here.” 

Harry was a very pretty little boy of six, 
and Bella a very charming little girl of five 
years old. They had their mother’s large 
dark eyes and her golden hair. 

After the Curd had kissed the two children, 
Harry, who was looking with admiration at 
Jean’s uniform, said to his mother : 

“ And the soldier, mamma, must we kiss him 
too } ” 

“ If you like,” replied Mrs. Scott, “ and if 
he will allow it.” 

A moment after, the two children were in- 
stalled upon Jean’s knees, and overwhelming 
him with questions. 

“ Are you an officer ? ” 

“ Yes, I am an officer.” 

“ What in .? ” 

“ In the artillery.” 

“ The artillery ! Oh ! you are one of the 
men who fire the cannons. Oh, how I should 
like to be quite near when they fire the can- 
nons ! ” 

“ Will you take us some day when they fire 
the cannons Tell me, will you.^” 


123 


Meanwhile Mrs. Scott chatted with the Curd, 
and Jean, while replying to the children’s ques- 
tions, looked at Mrs. Scott. She wore a white 
muslin dress, but the muslin disappeared 
under a complete avalanche of little flounces 
of Valenciennes. The dress was cut out in 
front in a large square, her arms were bare 
to the elbow, a large bouquet of red roses 
at the opening of her dress, a red rose fixed 
in her hair with a diamond agraffe — nothing 
more. 

Mrs. Scott suddenly perceived that the chil- 
dren had taken entire possession of Jean, and 
exclaimed : 

“ Oh ! I beg your pardon. Harry, Bella I ” 

“ Oh ! pray let them stay with me.” 

“ I am so sorry to keep you waiting for din- 
ner ; my sister is not down yet. Oh, here she 
is ! ” 

Bettina entered. The same dress of white 
muslin, the same delicate mass of lace, the 
same red roses, the same grace, the same 
beauty, and the same smiling, amiable, candid 
manner. 

“ How do you do, Monsieur le Cur^ ? I am 
delighted to see you. Have you pardoned my 
dreadful intrusion of the other day ? ” 


124 

Then turning toward Jean and offering him 
her hand ; 

“ How do you do, Monsieur — Monsieur — 
Oh ! I cannot remember your name, and yet 
we seem to be already old friends, Mon 
sieur — ” 

“ Jean Reynaud.” 

Jean Reynaud, that is it. How do you 
do. Monsieur Reynaud ? I warn you faithfully 
that when we really are old friends — that is to 
say, in about a week — I shall call you Mon- 
sieur Jean. It is a pretty name, Jean.’' 

Dinner was announced. Mrs. Scott took the 
Cure’s arm; Bettina took Jean’s. Up to the 
moment when Bettina appeared Jean had said 
to himself, “ Mrs. Scott is the prettier ! ” When 
he felt Bettina’s little hand slip into his arm, 
and when she turned towards him her delicious 
face, he said, “ Miss Percival is the prettier ! ” 

But his perplexities gathered round him again 
when he was seated between the two sisters. 
If he looked to the right, love threatened him 
from that direction, and if he looked to the 
left, the danger removed immediately, and 
passed to the left. 

Conversation began, easy, animated, con- 
fidential. The two sisters were charmed ; they 




125 


had already walked in the park ; they promised 
themselves a long ride in the forest to-morrow. 
Riding was their delight, their passion. It 
was also Jean’s passion, so that after a quarter 
of an hour they begged him to join them the 
next day. He gladly accepted. There was 
no one who knew the country round better 
than he did ; it was his native place. He 
would be so happy to do the honors of it, and 
to show them numbers of delightful little spots 
which, without him, they would never dis- 
cover. 

“ Do you ride every day ? ” asked Bettina. 

“ Every day, and sometimes twice. In the 
morning I am on duty, and in the evening I 
ride for my own pleasure.” 

“ Early in the morning } ” 

« At half-past five.” 

“ At half-past five every morning .? ” 

“ Yes, except Sunday.” 

“ Then you get up — ” 

“ At half -past four.” 

“ And is it light ? ” 

“ Oh ! just now, broad daylight.’^ 

“ To get up at half-past four is admirable ; 
we often finish our day just when yours is begin- 
ning. And are you fond of your profession } ” 


126 


“ Very. It is an excellent thing to have 
one’s life plain before one, with exact and defi- 
nite duties.” 

“ And yet, ” said Mrs. Scott, “ not to be 
one’s own master — to be always obliged to 
obey ! ” 

“ That is perhaps what suits me best ; there 
is nothing easier than to obey, and then to 
learn to obey is the only way of learning to 
command.” 

“ Ah ! since you say so, it must be true.^’ 

“ Yes, no doubt,” added the Cure ; “ but he 
does not tell you that he is the most distin- 
guished officer in his regiment, that — ” 

“ Oh ! pray do not.” 

The Curd, in spite of Jean’s resistance, was 
about to launch into a panegyric on his god- 
son, when Bettina, interposing, said : 

‘‘It is unnecessary, Monsieu le Cur4, do 
not say anything, we know already all that you 
would tell us ; w^e have been so indiscreet as to 
make inquiries about Monsieur — Oh ! I was 
just going to say Monsieur Jean — about Mon- 
sieur Reynaud. Well, the information we re- 
ceived was excellent ! ” 

“ I am curious to know, ” said Jean. 

“ Nothing ! nothing ! you shall know nothing. 


ae 127 

I do not wish to make you blush, and you 
would be obliged to blush/’ 

Then turning towards the Curd, “ And about 
you, too, Monsieur I’Abbe, we have had some 
information. It appears that you are a saint.” 

“ Oh ! as to that, it is perfectly true, ” cried 
Jean. 

It was the Curd this time who cut short the 
eloquence of Jean. Dinner was almost over. 
The old priest had not got through this dinner 
without experiencing many emotions. They had 
repeatedly presented to him complicated and 
scientific constructions upon which he had 
only ventured with a trembling hand. He 
was afraid of seeing the whole crumble beneath 
his touch ; the trembling castles of jelly, the 
pyramids of truffles, the fortresses of cream, 
the bastions of pastry, the rocks of ice. Other- 
wise the Abbe Constantin dined with an ex- 
cellent appetite, and did not recoil before two 
or three glasses of champagne. He was no 
foe to good cheer ; perfection is not of this 
world : and if gormandizing were, as they 
say, a cardinal sin, how many good priests 
would be damned ! 

Coffee was served on the terrace in front of 
the house ; in the distance was heard the harsh 


128 


voice of the old village clock striking nine. 
Woods and fields were slumbering ; the avenues 
in the park showed only as long, undulating, 
and undecided lines. The moon slowly rose 
over the tops of the great trees. 

Bettina took a box of cigars from the table, 
“ Do you smoke ? ” said she. 

“ Yes, Miss Percival.’* 

“Take one, Monsieur Jean. It can’t be 
helped, I have said it. Take one — but no, 
listen to me first.” 

And speaking in a low voice while offering 
him the box. of cigars — 

“ It is getting dark, now you may blush at 
your ease. I will tell you what I did not say 
at dinner. An old lawyer in Souvigny, who 
was your guardian, came to see my sister in 
Paris about the payment for the place ; he 
told us what you did after your father’s death, 
when you were only a child, — what you did 
for that poor mother, and for that poor young 
girl. Both my sister and I were much touched 
by it.” 

“Yes,” continued Mrs. Scott, “and that is 
why we have received you to-day with so much 
pleasure. We should not have given such a 
reception to every one, of that you may be 


sure. Well, now take your cigar, my sister is 
waiting.” 

Jean could not find a word in reply. Bettina 
stood there with the box of cigars in her 
two hands, her eyes fixed frankly on Jean’s 
countenance. At the moment she tasted a 
true and keen pleasure which may be expressed 
by this phrase : 

“ It seems to me that I see before me a man 
of honor.” 

“And now,” said Mrs. Scott, “ let us sit here 
and enjoy this delicious night ; take your 
coffee, smoke — ” 

“ And do not let us talk, Suzie, do not let 
us talk. This great silence of the country, 
after the great noise and bustle of Paris, is 
delightful ! Let us sit here without speaking ; 
let us look at the sky, the moon, and the stars.” 

All four, with much pleasure, carried out 
this little programme. Suzie and Bettina, calm, 
reposeful, absolutely separated from their ex- 
istence of yesterday, already felt a tenderness 
for the place which had just received them, 
and was going to keep them. Jean was less 
tranquil ; Miss Percival’s words had caused 
him profound emotion, his heart had not yet 
quite regained its regular throb. 

9 


130 


But the happiest of all was the Abbe Con- 
stantin. This little episode which had caused 
Jean’s modesty such a rude, yet sweet trial,, 
had brought him exquisite joy, the Abbd bore 
his godson such affection. The most tender 
father never loved more warmly the dearest of 
his children. When the old Curd looked at 
the young officer he often said to himself : 

“ Heaven has been too kind ; I am a priest, 
and I have a son ! ” 

The Abbe sank into a very agreeable revery ; 
he felt himself at home, he felt himself too 
much at home ; by degrees his ideas became 
hazy and confused, revery became drowsiness, 
drowsiness became slumber, the disaster was 
soon complete, irreparable ; the Curd slept, and 
slept profoundly. This marvellous dinner, 
and the two or three glasses of champagne, 
may have had something to do with the 
catastrophe. 

Jean perceived nothing ; he had forgotten 
the promise made to his godfather. And why 
had he forgotten it ? Because Mrs. Scott and 
Miss Percival had thought proper to put their 
feet on the foot-stools, placed in front of their 
wicker garden-chairs filled with cushions ; 
then they had thrown themselves lazily back 


W\xt 13 1 

in their chairs, and their muslin skirts had be- 
come raised a little, a very little, but yet enough 
to display four little feet, the lines of which 
showed very distinctly and clearly beneath two 
pretty clouds of white lace. Jean looked at 
these little feet, and asked himself this ques- 
tion : 

“ Which are the smaller ? ” 

While he was trying to solve this problem, 
Eettina all at once said to him in a low voice ; 

“ Monsieur Jean ! Monsieur Jean ! ” 

Miss Percival ! ” 

“ Look at the Curd ; he is asleep.” 

“ Oh ! it is my fault.” 

“ How your fault ? ” asked Mrs. Scott, also 
in a low voice. 

“ Yes ; my godfather rises at daybreak, and 
goes to bed very early ; he told me to be sure 
and prevent his falling asleep ; when Madame 
de Longueval was here, he very often had a 
nap after dinner. You have shown him so 
much kindness that he has fallen back into 
his old habits.” 

“ And he is perfectly right,” said Bettina ; 
“do not make a noise, do not wake him.” 

“ You are too good. Miss Percival, but the 
air is getting a little fresh.” 


132 


“ Ah ! that is true, he might catch cold. 
Stay, I will go and fetch a wrap for him.’^ 

‘‘ I think. Miss Percival, it would be better 
to try and wake him skilfully, so that he should 
not suspect that you had seen him asleep.” 

“ Let me do it,” said Bettina. “ Suzie, let 
us sing together, very softly at first, then we 
will raise our voices little by little ; let us 
sing.” 

“ Willingly ; but what shall we sing ? ” 

“ Let us sing ‘ Quelque chose d’enfantin,* 
the words are appropriate.” 

Suzie and Bettina began to sing : 

If I had but two little wings, 

And were a little feathery bird. 

Their sweet and penetrating voices had an ex- 
quisite sonority in that profound silence. The 
Abbd heard nothing, did not move. Charmed 
with this little concert, Jean said to himself : 

“ Heaven grant that my godfather may not 
wake too soon ! ” 

The voices became clearer and louder : 

But in my sleep to you I fly, 

I’m always with you in my sleep. 


Yet the Abbd did not stir. 


133 

“ How he sleeps ! ” said Suzie ; “ it is a 
crime to wake him.” 

“ But we must ; louder, Suzie, louder.” 

Suzie and Bettina both gave free scope to 
the power of their voices. 

Sleep stays not, though a monarch bids, 

So I love to wake ere break of day. 

The Cure woke with a start. After a 
short moment of anxiety he breathed again. 
Evidently no one had noticed that he 
had been asleep. He collected himself, 
stretched himself prudently, slowly — he was 
saved ! 

A quarter of an hour later the two sisters 
accompanied the Curd and Jean to the little 
gate of the park, which opened into the vil- 
lage a few rods from the vicarage ; they had 
nearly reached the gate when Bettina said all 
at once to Jean : 

“ Ah ! all this time I have had a question to 
ask you. This morning when we arrived, we 
met on the way a slight young man, with a 
fair moustache, he was riding a black horse, 
and bowed to us as we passed.” 

‘^It was Paul de Lavardens, one of my 
friends ; he has already had the honor of be- 


134 


ing introduced to you, but rather vaguely, and 
his ambition is to be presented again.’* 

“Well, you shall bring him one of these 
days,” said Mrs. Scott. 

“ After the twenty-fifth ! ” cried Bettina. 
“ Not before ! not before ! No one till then ; 
till then we will see no one but you. Monsieur 
Jean. But you, — it is very extraordinary, and 
I don’t quite know how it has happened, you 
don’t seem anybody to us. The compliment 
is perhaps not very well turned, but do not 
make a mistake, it is a compliment. I in- 
tended to be excessively amiable in speaking 
to you thus.” 

“ And so you are. Miss Percival.” 

“ So much the better if I have been so fort- 
unate as to make myself understood. Good- 
bye, Monsieur Jean — till to-morrow ! ” 

Mrs. Scott and Miss Percival returned 
slowly towards the castle. 

“ And now, Suzie,” said Bettina, “ scold me 
well, — I expect it, I have deserved it.” 

“ Scold you ! Why ? ” 

“ You are going to say, I am sure, that I 
have been too familiar with that young man.” 

“ No, I shall not say that. From the first 
day that young man has made the most favor- 


Wht 135 

able impression upon me ; he inspires me with 
perfect confidence.” 

“ And so he does me.” 

“ I am persuaded that it would be well for 
us both to try to make a friend of him.” 

“With all my heart, as far as I am con- 
cerned, so much the more as I have seen 
many young men since we have lived in 
France. Oh, yes, I have, indeed ! Well, 
this is the first, positively the first, in whose 
•eyes I have not clearly read, ‘ Oh how glad I 
should be to marry that little body’s millions ! ’ 
That was written in the eyes of all the others, 
but not in his eyes. Now, here we are at 
home again. Good-night, Suzie — to-morrow.” 

Mrs. Scott went to see and kiss her sleeping 
children. 

Bettina remained long, leaning on the balus- 
trade of her balcony. 

“It seems to me,” said she, “that I am 
^oing to be very fond of this place.” 




136 


CHAPTER VIL 

The next morning, on returning from drill, 
Jean found Paul de Lavardens waiting for 
him at the barracks ; he scarcely allowed him 
time to dismount, and the moment he had him 
alone — 

Quick, said he, ** describe your dinner- 
party of yesterday. I saw them myself in the 
morning ; the little one was driving four 
ponies, and with an amount of audacityo I 
bowed to them; did you mention me? Did 
they recognize me ? When will you take me 
to Longueval ? Answer me.” 

“ Answer ? yes. But which question first ? ” 

“The last.” 

“ When will I take you to Longueval ? ” 

“Yes.” 

“ Well, in ten days ; they don’t want to see 
any one just now.” 

“ Then you are not going back to Longueval 
for ten days ? ” 


137 


“ Oh ! I shall go back to-day at four 
o’clock. But I don’t count, you know. Jean 
Reynaud, the Cure’s godson. That is why I 
have penetrated so easily into the confidence 
of these two charming women. I have pre- 
sented myself under the patronage and with 
the guarantee of the Church. And then they 
have discovered that I could render them little 
services. I know the country very well, and 
they will make use of me as a guide. In a 
word, I am nobody ; while you. Count Paul de 
Lavardens, you are somebody ; so fear nothing, 
your turn will come with the fetes and balls. 
Then you will be resplendent in all your glory, 
and I shall return very humbly into my 
obscurity.” 

“ You may laugh at me as much as you like ; 
it is none the less true that during these ten 
days you will steal a march upon me — upon 
mer 

“ How upon you ? ” 

“ Now, Jean, do you want to make me 
believe that you are not already in love with 
one of these two women? Is it possible? 
Such beauty, such luxury ! Perhaps the luxury 
even more than the beauty. Luxury to that 
degree upsets me. Those black ponies with 


138 

their white rosettes! I dreamt of them last 
night, and that little — Bettina, is it not?” 

“Yes, Bettina.” 

“ Bettina — Countess Bettina de Lavardens ! 
Doesn’t that sound well enough ? and what a 
perfect husband she would have in me ! To 
be the husband of a woman possessing bound- 
less wealth, that is my destiny. It is not so 
easy as one may suppose. One must know 
how to be rich, I have already run through 
something, and — if my mother had not stopped 
me — but I am quite ready to begin again. Oh, 
how happy that girl would be with me ! I 
should create around her the existence of a 
fairy queen. In all her luxury she would feel 
her husband’s taste, art, and skill. I would pass 
my life in adoring her, in displaying her beauty, 
in petting her, in bearing her triumphant 
through the world. I would study her beauty 
in order to give it the frame that best suited it. 
‘If he were not there,’ she would say, ‘I 
should not be so beautiful, so dazzling.’ I 
should know not only how to love her, but 
how to amuse her. She would have something 
for her money, — she would have love and 
pleasure. Come, Jean, do a good action, take 
me to Mrs. Scott’s to-day.” 


139 


Wilt giUrlre 

“ I cannot, I assure you.” 

“ Well, then, in ten days ; but I give you 
fair notice, I shall install myself at Lon- 
gueval, and shall not move. In the first place, 
it would please my mother ; she is still a little 
prejudiced against these Americans. She says 
that she shall arrange not to see them ; but I 
know my mother. Some day, when I go home 
in the evening and tell her : Mother, I have 
won the heart of a charming little person who 
is burdened with a capital of twenty millions 
— they exaggerate when they talk of hundreds 
of millions. You know these are the correct 
figures, and they are enough for me. That 
evening, then, my mother will be delighted, 
because in her heart what is it she desires for 
me ? What all good mothers desire for their 
sons, — a good marriage, or a discreet liaison, 
with some one in society. At Longueval I 
find these two essentials, and I will accommo- 
date myself very willingly to either. You 
will have the kindness to warn me in ten 
days — you will let me know which of the 
two you abandon to me, Mrs. Scott or Miss 
Percival.” 

“ You are mad, you are quite mad ! I do 
not, I never shall think — ” 


140 

“Listen, Jean. You are wisdom personi- 
fied ; you may say and do as you like, but 
remember what I say to you, Jean, you will 
fall in love in that house.” 

“ I do not believe it,” replied Jean, laughing. 

“ But I am absolutely sure of it. Good-bye. 
I leave you to your duties.” 

That morning Jean was perfectly sincere. 
He had slept very well the previous night ; the 
second interview with the two sisters had, as 
if by enchantment, dissipated the slight trouble 
which had agitated his soul after the first 
meeting. He prepared to meet them again, 
with much pleasure, but also with much tran- 
quillity ; there was too much money in that 
house to permit the love of a poor devil like 
Jean to find place honestly there. 

Friendship was another affair; with all his 
heart he wished, and with all his strength he 
would seek, to establish himself peacefully in 
the esteem and regard of the sisters. He would 
try not to remark too much the beauty of 
Suzie and Bettina ; he would try not to forget 
himself as he had done the previous evening, 
in the contemplation of the four little feet 
resting on their footstools. They had said, 
very frankly, very cordially, to him, “ You shall 


141 


be our friend.” That was all he desired — to 
be their friend — and that he would be. 

During the ten days that followed, all con- 
duced to the success of this enterprise. Suzie, 
Bettina, the Curd, and Jean led the same life 
in the closest and most cordial intimacy. 

Jean did not seek to analyze his feelings. 
He felt for these two women an equal affec- 
tion ; he was perfectly happy, perfectly tran- 
quil. Then he was not in love, for love and 
tranquillity seldom dwell at peace in the same 
heart. 

Jean, however, with a little anxiety and sad- 
ness, saw the day approach which would bring 
to Longueval the Turners and the Nortons 
and the whole force of the American colony. 
The day came too soon. 

On Friday, the 24th of June, at four o’clock, 
Jean arrived at the castle. Bettina received 
him alone, looking quite vexed. 

“ How annoying it is,” said she, “ my sister 
is not well ; a little headache, nothing of con- 
sequence, it will be gone by to-morrow, but I 
dare not ride with you alone. In America I 
might, but here it would not do, would it ? ” 

“ Certainly not,” replied Jean. 

“ I must send you back, and I am so sorry.” 


142 

“ And so am I — I am very sorry to be 
obliged to go, and to lose this last day, which 
I had hoped to pass with you. However, 
since it must be, I will come to-morrow to 
inquire after your sister.” 

“ She will see you herself to-morrow ; I re- 
peat, it is nothing serious. But do not run 
away in such a hurry, pray ; will you not spare 
me a little quarter of an hour’s conversation ^ 
I want to speak to you ; sit down there, and 
now listen to me attentively. My sister and I 
had intended this evening after dinner to 
blockade you into a little corner of the draw- 
ing-room, and then she meant to tell you what 
I am going to try to say for us both. But I am 
a little nervous. Do not laugh ; it is a very 
serious matter. We wish to thank you for 
having been, ever since our arrival here, so 
good to us both.” 

“Oh!” Miss Percival, pray, it is you 
who — ” 

“ Oh ! do not interrupt me, you will quite 
confuse me. I do not know how to get through 
with it. I maintain, besides, that the thanks 
are due from us, not from you. We arrived 
here two strangers. We have been fortunate 
enough to find friends immediately. Yes, 


friends. You have taken us by the hand, you 
have led us into the homes of our farmers, of 
our keepers ; while your godfather took us to 
his poor people — and everywhere you were so 
much beloved, that from their confidence in 
you, they began, on your recommendation, to 
like us a little. You are adored about here ; 
do you know that?” 

“ I was born here — all these good people 
have known me from my infancy, and are 
grateful to me for what my grandfather and 
father did for them ; and then I am of their 
race, the race of the peasants ; my great- 
grandfather was a farmer at Bargecourt, a vil- 
lage two miles from here.” 

“ Oh ! oh ! you appear very proud of that ! ” 
“ Neither proud nor ashamed.” 

“ I beg your pardon, you made a little move- 
ment of pride. Well, I can tell you that my 
mother’s great-grandfather was a farmer in 
Brittany. He went to Canada at the end of 
the last century, when Canada belonged still 
to France. And you love very much this 
region where you were born ? ” 

“Very much. Perhaps I shall soon be 
obliged to leave it.” 

“ Why?” 


144 


“ When I get promotion, I shall have to ex 
change into another regiment, and I shall 
wander from garrison to garrison ; but cer- 
tainly, when I am an old commandant or old 
colonel, on half-pay, I shall come back, and 
live and die here, in the little house that was 
my father’s.” 

“ Always quite alone ? ” 

“ Why quite alone } I certainly hope not.” 

“You intend to marry.” 

“Yes, certainly.” 

“ You are trying to get married ? ” 

“ No ; one may think of marrying, but one 
ought not to try to marry.” 

“And yet there are people who do try. 
Come, I can answer for that, and you, even ; 
people have wished to find you a wife.” 

“ How do you know that ? ” 

“ Oh ! I know all your little affairs so well ; 
you are what they call a good match, and I re- 
peat it, they have wished to find you a wife.” 

“ Who told you that ? ” 

“ Monsieur le Cure.” 

“ Then he was very wrong,” said Jean, with 
a certain sharpness. 

“ No, no, he was not wrong. If any one has 
been to blame it is I. I soon discovered that 


145 


your godfather was never so happy as when he 
was speaking of you. So when I was alone 
with him during our walks, to please him, I 
talked of you, and he related your history to 
me. You are well off, you are very well off ; 
from Government you receive every month 
two hundred and thirteen francs and some 
centimes ; am I correct ? ” 

“Yes,” said Jean, deciding to endure with a 
good grace his share in the Cure’s indiscre- 
tions. 

“ You have eight thousand francs income.” 

“ Nearly, not quite.” 

“Add to that your house, which is worth 
thirty thousand francs. Moreover, you are in 
an excellent position, and people have asked 
for your hand.” 

“ Asked for my hand ! No, no.” 

“ They have, they have, twice, and you have 
refused two very good marriages, two very 
good fortunes, if you prefer it — it is the same 
thing for so many people. Two hundred 
thousand francs in the one case, three hundred 
thousand in the other. It appears that these 
fortunes are enormous for the country ! Yet 
you have refused ! Tell, me why. If you only 
knew how eager I am to know 1 ” 

lO 


146 Wht 

“ Well, it concerned two charming girls.’’ 

“ That is understood. One always says 
that.” 

“ But whom I scarcely knew. They forced 
me — for I did resist — they forced me to spend 
two or three evenings with them last winter.” 

“ And then 1 ” 

“ Then — I don’t quite know how to explain 
it to you. I did not feel the slightest touch of 
embarrassment, emotion, anxiety, or disturb- 
ance — ” 

“ In fact,” said Bettina, resolutely, “ not the 
least suspicion of love.” 

“No, not the least ; and I returned quite 
calmly to my bachelor den, for I think it is 
better not to marry than to marry without 
love.” 

“ And I think so too.” 

She looked at him, he looked at her, and 
suddenly, to the great surprise of both, they 
found nothing more to say, — nothing at all. 

At this moment Harry and Bella rushed into 
the room with cries of joy. 

“ Monsieur Jean ! Are you there ? Come 
and see our ponies.” 

“ Ah ! ” said Bettina, her voice a little un- 
certain, “ Edwards has just come back from 


147 


Paris, and has brought two microscopic ponies 
for the children. Let us go and see them, 
shall we ? ’’ 

They went to see the ponies, which were in- 
deed worthy to figure in the stables of the 
King of Lilliput. 


148 




CHAPTER VIII. 

Three weeks have glided by ; another day 
and Jean will be obliged to leave with his 
regiment for the artillery practice. He will 
lead the life of a soldier. Ten days’ march 
on the high-road going and returning, and ten 
days in the camp at Cercottes in the Forest of 
Orleans. The regiment will return to Sou- 
vigny on the loth of August. 

Jean is no longer tranquil ; Jean is no 
longer happy. With impatience, and at the 
same time with terror, he sees the moment of 
his departure approach. With impatience — 
for he is suffering an absolute martyrdom, he 
longs to escape it; with terror — for to pass 
twenty days without seeing her, without speak- 
ing to her, without her, in a word — what will 
become of him ? Her ! It is Bettina ; he 
adores her ! 

Since when ? Since the first day, since 
that meeting in the month of May in the 
Cure’s garden. That is the truth ; but Jean 




149 


struggles against and resists that truth. He 
believes that he has only loved Bettina since 
the day when the two chatted gayly, amicably, 
in the little drawing-room. She was sitting 
on the blue couch near the window, and while 
talking amused herself with repairing the dis- 
order of the dress of a Japanese princess, one 
of Bella’s dolls, which had been left on a chair, 
and which Bettina had mechanically taken up. 

Why had the fancy come to Miss Percival 
to talk to him of those two young girls whom 
he might have married ? The question in it- 
self was not at all embarrassing to him. He 
had replied that, if he had not then felt any 
taste for marriage, it was because his inter- 
views w'ith these two girls had not caused him 
any emotion or any agitation. He had smiled 
in speaking thus, but a few minutes after he 
smiled no more. This emotion, this agitation, 
he had suddenly learnt to know them. Jean 
did not deceive himself ; he acknowledged the 
depth of the wound ; it had penetrated to his 
very heart’s core. 

He, however, did not abandon himself to 
this emotion. He said to himself : 

“ Yes, it is serious, very serious, but I shall 
recover from it.” 


150 

He sought an excuse for his madness ; he 
laid the blame on circumstances. For ten 
days this delightful girl had been too much 
with him, too much with him alone ! How 
could he resist such a temptation ? He was 
intoxicated with her charm, with her grace 
and beauty. But the next day a troop of 
visitors would arrive at Longueval, and there 
would be an end of this dangerous intimacy. 
He would be courageous ; he would keep at. a 
distance ; he would lose himself in the crowd, 
would see Bettina less often and less famil- 
iarly. To see her no more was a thought he 
could not support ! He wished to remain 
Bettina’s friend, since he could be nothing 
but her friend ; for there was another thought 
which scarcely entered his mind. This 
thought did not appear extravagant to him : 
it appeared monstrous. In the whole world 
there was not a more honorable man than 
Jean, and he felt for Bettina’s money horror, 
positive horror. 

From the 25th of June the crowd had been 
in possession of Longueval. Mrs. Norton 
arrived with her son, Daniel Norton, and Mrs. 
Turner with her son, Philip Turner. Both of 
them, the young Philip and the young Daniel, 


formed a part of the famous brotherhood of 
the thirty-four. They were old friends, Bet- 
tina had treated them as such, and had de- 
clared to them with perfect frankness that 
they were losing their time. However, they 
were not discouraged, and formed the centre 
of a little court which was always very eager 
and assiduous around Bettina. 

Paul de Lavardens had made his appearance 
on this scene, and had very rapidly become 
everybody’s friend. He had received the 
brilliant and complicated education of a young 
man destined for pleasure. While it was a 
question only of amusement, riding, croquet, 
lawn tennis, polo, dancing, charades, and 
theatricals, he was ready for everything, he 
excelled in everything. His superiority was 
evident, unquestionable. Paul became in 
short time, by general consent, the director 
and organizer of the files at Longueval. 

Bettina had not a moment of hesitation. 
Jean introduced Paul de Lavardens, and the 
latter had scarcely concluded the customary 
little compliment when Miss Percival, leaning 
towards her sister, whispered in her ear : 

“ The thirty-fifth ! ” 

However, she received Paul very kindly, so 


152 

kindly that for several days he had the weak* 
ness to misunderstand her. He believed that 
it was his personal graces which had obtained 
for him this very flattering and cordial recep- 
tion. It was a great mistake. Paul de 
Lavardens had been introduced by Jean ; he 
was Jean’s friend. In Bettina’s eyes therein 
lay all his merit. 

Mrs. Scott’s castle was open house ; people 
were not invited for one evening only, but for 
every evening, and Paul, with enthusiasm, 
came every evening. His dream was at last 
realized ; he had found Paris at Longueval. 

But Paul was neither blind nor a fool. No 
doubt he was, on Miss Percival’s part, the 
object of very particular attention and favor. 
It pleased her to talk long, very long, alone 
with him. But what was the eternal, the inex- 
haustible subject of their conversations ? 
Jean, again Jean, and always Jean ! 

Paul was thoughtless, dissipated, frivolous, 
but he became in earnest when Jean was in 
question ; he knew how to appreciate him, he 
knew how to love him. Nothing to him was 
sweeter, nothing was easier, than to say of the 
friend of his childhood all the good that he 
thought of him ; and as he saw that Bettina 


WU 153 

listened with great pleasure, Paul gave free 
rein to his eloquence. 

Only Paul wished one evening — and he was 
quite right — to reap the benefit of his chivalrous 
conduct. He had just been talking for a 
quarter of an hour with Bettina. The con- 
versation finished, he went to look for Jean 
at the other end of the drawing-room, and 
said to him : 

“You left the field open to me, and I have 
made a bold stroke for Miss Percival.” 

“ Well, you have no reason to be dissatisfied 
with the result of the enterprise. You are the 
best friends in the world.” 

“ Yes, certainly, pretty well, but not quite 
satisfactory. There is no one more amiable 
or more charming than Miss Percival, and 
really it is very good of me to acknowledge it, 
for, between ourselves, she makes me play an 
ungrateful and ridiculous part, — a part which 
is quite unsuited to my age. I am, you will 
admit, of the lover’s age, and not of that of 
the confidant.” 

“ Of the confidant ? ” 

“ Yes, my dear fellow, of the confidant ! 
That is my occupation in this house. You 
were looking at us just now. Oh ! I have 


154 

very good eyes ; you were looking at us. Well, 
do you know what we were talking about ? 
Of you, my dear fellow, — of you, of nothing but 
you. And it is the same thing every evening ; 
there is no end to the questions. 

“‘You were brought up together? Yon 
took lessons together from the Abbe Con- 
stantin ? * 

“ ‘ Will he soon be captain ? And then ? * 

“ ‘ Commandant.^ 

“ ‘ And then ? » 

“ ‘ Colonel, etc., etc., etc.* 

“ Ah ! I can tell you, my friend Jean, if you 
liked, you might dream a very delicious 
dream.” 

Jean was annoyed, almost angry. Paul 
was much astonished at this sudden attack of 
irritability. 

“ What is the matter ? Have I said any- 
thing — ” 

“ I beg your pardon ; I was wrong. But 
how could you take such an absurd idea into 
your head ? ” 

“ Absurd ! I don*t see it. I have entertained 
the absurd idea on my own account.” 

“Ah ! you — ” 

Why ‘ Ah ! me ? * If I have had it you 


may have it ; you are more worthy of it than 
I am.” 

“ Paul, I entreat you ! ” 

Jean’s discomfort was evident. 

“We will not speak of it again ; we will not 
speak of it again. What I wanted to say, in 
short, is that Miss Percival thinks me very 
nice, very nice ; but as to thinking of me 
seriously, that little person will never think 
of me seriously. I must fall back upon Mrs. 
Scott, but without much confidence. You see, 
Jean, I shall amuse myself in this house, but 
I shall make nothing out of it.” 

Paul de Lavardens did fall back upon Mrs. 
Scott, but the next day was surprised ta 
stumble upon Jean, who had taken to placing 
himself very regularly in Mrs. Scott’s particular 
circle, for like Bettina she had also her little 
court. But what Jean sought there was a 
protection, a shelter, a refuge. 

The day of that memorable conversation 
on marriage without love, Bettina had also, 
for the first time felt suddenly awake in her 
that necessity of loving which sleeps, but not 
very profoundly, in the hearts of all young^ 
girls. The sensation had been the same, at 
the same moment, in Bettina’s soul and in 


156 

Jean’s. He, terrified, had cast it violently 
from him. She, on the contrary, had yielded 
in all the simplicity of her perfect innocence 
to this flood of emotion and of tenderness. 

She had waited for love. Could this be 
love ? The man who was to be her thought, her 
life, her soul — could this be he — this Jean ? 
Why not ? She knew him better than she 
knew all those who during the past year had 
haunted her for her fortune, and in what she 
knew of him there was nothing to discourage 
the love of a good girl. Far from it ! 

Both of them did well ; both of them were 
in the way of duty and of truth, — she in 
yielding, he in resisting ; she in not thinking 
for a moment of Jean’s obscurity, of his 
comparative poverty; he in recoiling before 
her mountain of wealth as he would have re- 
coiled before a crime ; she in thinking that she 
had no right to parley with love ; he in thinking 
he had no right to parley with honor. 

This is why, in proportion as Bettina showed 
herself more tender, and abandoned herself 
with more frankness to the first call of love — 
this is why Jean became day by day more 
gloomy and more restless. He was not only 
afraid of loving ; he was afraid of being loved. 


157 

He ought to have remained away ; he should 
not have come near her. He had tried : he 
could not ; the temptation was too strong ; it 
carried him away ; so he came. She would 
come to him, her hands extended, a smile on 
her lips, and her heart in her eyes. Everything 
in her said : 

“ Let us try to love each other, and if we 
can we will love ! ” 

Fear seized him. Those two hands which 
offered themselves to the pressure of his hands, 
he scarcely dared to touch. He tried to 
escape those eyes which, tender and smiling, 
anxious and curious, tried to meet his eyes. 
He trembled before the necessity of speaking 
to Bettina, before the necessity of listening to 
her. 

Then Jean took refuge with Mrs. Scott, and 
then Mrs. Scott caught those uncertain 
agitated, troubled words which were not ad- 
dressed to her, and which she took for herself 
nevertheless. She could hardly have failed t4. 
be mistaken. 

For of these still vague and confused senti- 
ments which agitated her Bettina had as yet 
said nothing. She guarded and caressed the 
secret of her budding love as a miser guards 


158 Wat 

and caresses the first coins of his treasure. 
The day when she should see clearly into her 
own heart, the day that she should be sure 
that she loved — ah ! she would speak that day, 
and how happy she should be to tell all to 
Suzie ! 

Mrs. Scott had ended by regarding herself 
as the cause of Jean’s melancholy, which day 
by day took a more marked character. She 
was flattered by it — a woman is never dis- 
pleased at thinking herself beloved — she was 
flattered and vexed at the same time. She 
held Jean in great esteem, in great affection, 
but she was distressed at the thought that if 
he were sad and unhappy, it was because of 
her. 

Suzie was, besides, conscious of her own 
innocence. With others she had sometimes 
been coquettish, very coquettish. To torment 
them a little, was that such a great crime ? 
They had nothing to do, they were good-for- 
nothing, it occupied them while it amused her. 
It helped them to pass their time, and it helped 
her too. But Suzie had not to reproach her- 
self for having flirted with Jean. She recog- 
nized his merit and his superiority : he was 
worth more than the others ; he was a man to 


159 


suffer seriously, and that was what Mrs. Scott 
did not wish. Already two or three times 
she had been on the point of speaking to him 
very seriously, very affectionately, but she had 
reflected Jean was going away for three weeks ; 
on his return, if it were still necessary, she 
she would read him a lecture, and would act 
in such a manner that love should not come 
foolishly to interfere in their friendship. 

So Jean was to go the next day. Bettina 
had insisted that he should spend this last day 
at Longueval, and dine at the chateau. Jean 
had refused, alleging that he had much to da 
the night before his departure. 

He arrived in the evening, about half-past 
ten ; he came on foot. Several times on the 
way he had been inclined to return. 

“ If I had courage enough,” he said to him- 
self, “ I would not see her again. I shall leave 
to-morrow, and return no more to Souvigny 
while she is there. My resolution is taken, 
and taken forever.” 

But he continued on his way ; he would see 
her again — for the last time. 

As soon as he entered the drawing-room, 
Bettina hastened to him. 

“ Here you are at last ! How late you are ! 


i6o TOe 

“ I have been very busy.” 

“ And you are going to-morrow } ” 

Yes, to-morrow.” 

“ Early ? ” 

“ At five in the morning.” 

“ You will go by the road which runs by 
the park wall, and goes through the village ? ” 

“ Yes, that is the way we shall go.” 

Why so early in the morning ? I would 
have gone out on the terrgce to see you pass 
and to wish you good-bye.” 

Bettina detained for a moment Jean’s burn, 
ing hand in hers. He drew it mournfully 
away, with an effort. 

“ I must go and speak to your sister,” said 
he. 

“ Directly, . . . she has not seen you, . . . 
there are a dozen people round her. Come 
and sit here a little while, near me.” 

He was obliged to seat himself beside her. 

“ We are going away too,” said she. 

“ You are ! ” 

“Yes. An hour ago, we received a tele- 
gram from my brother-in-law, which has caused 
us great joy. We did not expect him for a 
month, but he is coming back in a fortnight. 
He will embark the day after to-morrow at 


New York, on board the Labrador. We are 
going to meet him at Havre. We shall also 
start the day after to-morrow. We are going 
to take the children ; it will do them a great 
deal of good to spend a few days at the sea- 
side. How pleased my brother-in-law will be 
to know you — do I say ‘ know you ’ ? he knows 
you already; we have spoken of you in all 
our letters. I am sure you and Mr. Scott will 
get on extremely well together, he is so good. 
How long will you stay away ? ” 

“ Three weeks.” 

“ Three weeks in a camp ? ” 

“Yes, Miss Percival, in the camp of Cer- 
cottes.” 

“ In the middle of the forest of Orleans. I 
made your godfather explain all about it to 
me this morning. Of course I am delighted to 
go to meet my brother-in-law, but at the same 
time I am a little sorry to leave here, for I 
would have gone every morning to pay a little 
visit to Monsieur TAbbd. He would have 
given me news of you. Perhaps, in about ten 
days, you will write to my sister, — a little note 
of three or four lines, — it will not take much 
of your time — just to tell her how you are, and 
that you do not forget us.” 

II 


i 62 


“ Oh ! as to forgetting you, as to losing the 
remembrance of your extreme kindness, your 
goodness, never. Miss Percival, never ! ” 

His voice trembled, he was afraid of his 
own emotion ; he rose. 

“ I assure you. Miss Percival, I must go and 
speak to your sister. She is looking at me. 
She must be astonished.’’ 

He crossed the room ; Bettina followed him 
with her eyes. 

Mrs. Norton had just placed herself at the 
piano to play a waltz for the young people. 

Paul de Lavardens approached Miss Per- 
cival. 

“ Will you do me the honor, Miss Percival ? ” 

** I believe I have just promised this dance 
to Monsieur Jean,” she replied. 

“ Well, if not to him, will you give it me ? ” 

“ That is understood.” 

Bettina walked towards Jean, who had seated 
himself near Mrs. Scott. 

have just told a dreadful story,” said 
she. “ Monsieur de Lavardens has asked me 
for this dance, and I replied that I had prom- 
ised it to you. You would like it, wouldn’t 
you?” 

To hold her in his arms, to breathe the per- 


163 


fume of her hair — Jean felt his courage could 
not support this ordeal, he dared not accept. 

“ I regret extremely I cannot. I am not 
well to-night. I persisted in coming because 
I would not leave without wishing you good- 
bye ; but dance ! no, it is impossible ! ” 

Mrs. Norton began the prelude of the 
waltz. 

“ Well,” said Paul, coming up quite joyful, 

who is it to be, he or I ? ” 

You,” she said sadly, without removing 
her eyes from Jean. 

She was much disturbed, and replied with- 
out knowing well what she said. She imme- 
diately regretted having accepted ; she would 
have liked to stay there, near him. But it 
was too late, Paul took her hand and led her 
away. 

Jean rose ; he looked at the two, Bettina and 
Paul. A haze floated before his eyes, he 
suffered cruelly. 

“ There is only one thing I can do,” thought 
he, — profit by this waltz, and go. To-morrow 
I will write a few lines to Mrs. Scott to excuse 
myself.” 

He reached the door, he looked no more at 
Bettina ; had he looked, he would have stayed. 


1 64 

But Bettina looked at him ; and all at once 
she said to Paul : 

“ Thank you very much, but I am a little 
tired; let us stop, please. You will excuse 
me, will you not ? ” 

Paul offered his arm. 

‘‘ No, thank you,” said she. 

The door was just closing, Jean was no 
longer there. Bettina ran across the room. 
Paul remained alone much surprised, under- 
standing nothing of what had passed. 

Jean was already at the hall door, when he 
heard some one call : “ Monsieur Jean ! Mon- 
sieur Jean ! ” 

He stopped and turned. She was near him. 

“ You are going without wishing me good- 
bye ? ” 

“ I beg your pardon, I am very tired.” 

“ Then you must not walk home, the weather 
is threatening,” — she put her hand out of 
doors — “ it is raining already. 

“ Oh, not much.” 

“ Come and have a cup of tea with me in 
the little drawing-room, and I will tell them to 
drive you home ; ” and turning towards one 
of the footmen, “ Have them send a carriage 
round directly.” 


165 

No, Miss Percival, pray, the open air will 
revive me. I must walk ; let me go.” 

“ Go, then, but you have no great-coat ; take 
something to wrap yourself in.” 

“ I shall not be cold — while you with that 
open dress. I shall go, to oblige you to go 
in.” And without even offering his hand, he 
ran quickly down the steps. 

“If I touched her hand,” he thought, “I 
am lost ; my secret will escape me.” 

His secret ! He did not know that Bettina 
read his heart like an open book. 

When Jean had descended the steps, he 
hesitated one short moment ; these words were 
upon his lips : 

“ I love you, I adore you, and that is why I 
will see you no more ! ” 

But he did not utter these words, he 
fled away and was soon lost in the dark- 
ness. 

Bettina remained there against the brilliant 
background made by the light from the hall. 
Great drops of rain driven by the wind swept 
across her bare shoulders and made her 
shiver : she took no notice, she distinctly heard 
her heart beat. 

“ I knew very well that he loved me,” she 


i66 




thought, “ but now I am very sure that I too 
— oh ! yes ! I too ! — ” 

All at once in one of the great mirrors in 
the hall door she saw the reflection of the two 
footmen who stood there motionless, near the 
oak table in the hall. She took several steps 
toward the drawing-room. She heard bursts 
of laughter and the strains of the waltz ; she 
-stopped. She wished to be alone, completely 
alone, and addressing one of the servants she 
said : 

“ Go and tell your mistress that I am very 
tired, and have gone to my own room.’* 

Annie, her maid, had fallen asleep in an 
oasy-chair. She sent her away. She would 
undress herself. She let herself sink in a 
couch ; she was oppressed with delicious 
emotion. 

The door of her room opened ; it was Mrs. 
Scott. 

“You are not well, Bettina?” 

“ Oh ! Suzie, is it you, my Suzie ? how nice 
of you to come. Sit here, close to me, quite 
close to me.” 

She hid herself like a child in her sister’s 
arms, caressing with her burning brow Suzie’s 
fresh shoulders. Then she suddenly burst 


into sobs, great sobs, which stifled, suffocated 
her. 

“ Bettina, my darling, what is the matter t 

“ Nothing, nothing ! It is my nerves . . . 
it is joy — joy ! ” 

“ Joy ? ” 

“ Yes, yes, wait — let me cry a little, it will 
do me so much good. But do not be fright- 
ened, do not be frightened.” 

Beneath her sister’s caress, Bettina grew 
calm, soothed. 

“ It is over. I am better now, and I can 
talk to you. It is about Jean.” 

“Jean ! You call him Jean ?” 

“ Yes, I call him Jean. Have you not noticed 
for some time that he was dull and looked 
quite melancholy ? ” 

“ Yes, I have.” 

“ Whenever he came, he would go and post 
himself near you, and stay there, silent, 
absorbed, to such a degree, that for several 
days I asked myself — pardon me for speaking 
to you with such frankness, it is my way, you 
know — I asked myself if it were not you whom 
he loved, Suzie ; you are so charming, it would 
have been so natural. But no, it was not you, 
it was 1 1 ” 


i68 




‘‘You!” 

“Yes, I. Listen, he scarcely dared to look 
at me, he avoided me, he fled from me, he was 
afraid of me, evidently afraid. Now, in justice, 
am I a person to inspire fear } I am sure I 
am not ! ” 

“ Certainly not ! ” 

“ Ah I it was not I of whom he was afraid, 
it was my money, my horrid money! This 
money which attracts all the others and tempts 
them so much, this money terrifies him, drives 
him desperate because he is not like the others, 
because he — ” 

“My child, take care, perhaps you are 
mistaken.” 

“ Oh ! no, I am not mistaken. Just now, at 
the door, when he was going away he said 
some words to me. These words were nothing. 
But if you had seen his distress in spite of all 
his efforts to control it ! Suzie, dear Suzie, by 
the affection which I bear you, and God knows 
how great is that affection, this is my convic- 
tion, my absolute conviction, — if instead of 
being Miss Percival I had been a poor young 
girl without a penny, Jean would then have 
taken my hand, and have told me that he 
loved me ; and if he had spoken to me 


thus, do you know what I should have re- 
plied?” 

“ That you loved him too ? ” 

“Yes; and that is why I am so happy. 
With me it is a fixed idea that I must adore 
the man who will be my husband. Well, I 
don’t say that I adore Jean ; no, not yet, but 
still it is beginning, Suzie, and it is beginning 
so sweetly ! ” 

“ Bettina, it really makes me uneasy to see 
you in this state of excitement. I do not deny 
that Monsieur Reynaud is much attached to 
you — ” 

“ Oh ! more than that, more than that ! ” 

“ Loves you, if you like ; yes, you are right, 
you are quite right. He loves you ; and are 
you not worthy, my darling, of all the love that 
one can bear you ? As to Jean — it is pro- 
gressing decidedly ; here am I also calling him 
Jean — well, you know what I think of him. I 
rank him very, very high. But in spite of 
that, is he really a suitable husband for you ? ” 

“ Yes, if I love him.” 

“ I am trying to talk sensibly to you, and 
you, on the contrary — Understand me, Bet- 
tina ; I have an experience of the world which 
you cannot have. Since our arrival in Paris 


170 


we have been launched into a very brilliant, 
very animated, very aristocratic society. Y ou 
might have been already, if you had liked, a 
marchioness or a princess.” 

“ Yes, but I did not like.” 

It would not matter to you to be called 
Madame Reynaud ? ” 

Not in the least, if I love him.” 

“ Ah ! you return always to — ” 

“ Because that is the true question. There 
is no other. Now I will be sensible in my 
turn. This question — I grant that this is not 
quite settled, and that I have, perhaps, allowed 
myself to be too easily persuaded. You see 
how sensible I am. Jean is going away to- 
morrow. I shall not see him again for three 
weeks. During these three weeks I shall have 
ample time to question myself, to examine my- 
self, in a word, to know my own mind. Under 
my giddy manner, I am serious and thought- 
ful, you know that ? ” 

‘‘ Oh ! yes, I know it.” 

“ Well, I will make this petition to you, as I 
would have addressed it to our mother had she 
been here. If in three weeks I say to you, 
‘ Suzie, I am certain that I love him,’ you will 
allow me to go to him myself, quite alone, and 


g^Krlre 171 

ask him if he will have me for his wife ? That 
is what you did with Richard. Tell me, Suzie, 
will you allow me ? ” 

“ Yes, I will allow you.’* 

Bettina embraced her sister, and murmured 
these words in her ear : 

“ Thank you, mamma.” 

“ Mamma, mamma ! So you used to call 
me when you were a child ; when we were 
alone in the world together ; when I used to 
undress you in our poor room in New York- 
when I held you in my arms ; when I laid you 
in your little bed ; when I sang you to sleep. 
And since then, Bettina, I have had only one 
desire in the world, — your happiness. That is 
why I beg you to reflect well. Do not answer 
me ; do not let us talk any more of that. I 
wish to leave you very calm, very tranquil. 
You have sent away Annie, would you like me 
to be your little mamma again to-night, to 
undress you, and put you to bed as I used 
to do ? ” 

“ Yes, I should like it very much.” 

“ And when you are in bed, you promise me 
to be very good.” 

“ As good as an angel.” 

“ You will do your best to go to sleep ? ” 


172 


g^tr][r;e 

“ My very best.” 

“ Very quietly, without thinking of any- 
thing ? ” 

“Very quietly, without thinking of any- 
thing.” 

“ Very well, then.” 

Ten minutes later, Bettina’s pretty head 
rested gently amidst embroideries and lace. 
Suzie said to her sister : 

“ I am going down to those people, who 
bore me dreadfully this evening. Before going 
to my own room, I shall come back and see if 
you are asleep. Do not speak. Go to sleep.” 

She went away. Bettina remained alone; 
she tried to keep her word ; she endeavored 
to go to sleep, but only half succeeded. She 
fell into a half-slumber, which left her floating 
between dream and reality. She had prom- 
ised to think of nothing, and yet she thought 
of him, always of him, of nothing but him, 
vaguely, confusedly. 

How long a time passed thus she could not 
tell. 

All at once it seemed to her that some one 
was walking in her room ; she half-opened her 
eyes, and thought she recognized her sister. 
In a very sleepy voice she said to her : 


173 


“ You know I love him.” 

“ Hush ! Go to sleep. ” 

“ I am asleep ! I am asleep ! ” 

At last she really fell asleep, but slept less 
profoundly than usual, for about four o’clock 
in the morning she was suddenly awakened by 
a noise, which the night before would not have 
disturbed her slumber. The rain was falling 
in torrents, and beating against her window. 

“ Oh, it is raining ! ” she thought ; “ he will 
get wetl^ 

That was her first thought. She rose, 
crossed the room barefooted, half-opened the 
shutters. The day had broke, gray and lower- 
ing ; the clouds were heavy with rain, the wind 
blew tempestuously, and drove the rain in 
gusts before it. 

Bettina did not go back to bed, she felt it 
would be quite impossible to sleep again. She 
put on a dressing-gown, and remained at the 
window ; she watched the falling rain. Since 
he positively must go, she would have liked 
the weather to be fine ; she would have liked 
bright sunshine to cheer his first day’s march. 

When she came to Longueval a month ago, 
Bettina did not know what une ktape or day’s 
march meant. But she knew now. A day’s 


174 

march for the artillery is twenty or thirty miJes^ 
with an hour’s halt for luncheon. The Abb^ 
Constantin had taught her that ; when going 
their rounds in the morning among the poor, 
Bettina overwhelmed the Curd with questions 
about military affairs, and particularly about 
the artillery service. 

Twenty or thirty miles under this pouring 
rain ! Poor Jean ! Bettina thought of young 
Turner, young Norton, of Paul de Lavardens, 
who would sleep calmly till ten in the morn- 
ing, while Jean was exposed to this deluge, 

Paul de Lavardens ! 

This name awoke in her a painful memory, 
the memory of that waltz the evening before. 
To have danced like that, while Jean was so 
obviously in distress ! That waltz took the 
proportions of a crime in her eyes ; it was a 
horrible thing that she had done. 

And then, had she not been wanting in. 
courage and frankness in that last interview 
with Jean 1 He neither could nor dared say 
anything; but she might have shown more 
tenderness, more expansiveness. Sad and 
suffering as he was, she should never have 
allowed him to go back on foot. She ought 
to have detained him at any price. Her im- 


175 


agination tormented and excited her; Jean 
must have carried away with him the im- 
pression that she was a bad little creature, 
heartless and pitiless. And in half an hour 
he was going away, — away for three weeks. 
Ah ! if she could by any means — but there is 
a way ! The regiment is to pass along by the 
park wall below the terrace. 

Bettina was seized with a wild desire to see 
Jean pass; he would understand well, if he 
saw her at such an hour, that she had come 
to beg his pardon for her cruelty of the pre- 
vious evening. Yes, she would go ! But she 
had promised Suzie that she v/ould be as 
good as an angel, and to do what she was 
going to do, was that being as good as an 
angel ? She would make up for it by acknowl- 
edging all to Suzie when she came in again,, 
and Suzie would forgive her. 

She would go ! She had made up her mind. 
Only how should she dress ? She had nothing, 
at hand but a ball dress, a muslin dressing- 
gown, little high-heeled slippers, and blue 
satin shoes. She might wake her maid. Oh I 
never would she dare to do that, and time 
pressing ; a quarter to five ! the regiment could 
start at five o’clock. 


176 




She might, perhaps, manage with the muslin 
dressing-gown and the satin slippers ; in the 
halls he might find her hat, her little boots 
which she wore in the garden, and the large 
tartan cloak for driving in wet weather. She 
half-opened her door with infinite precautions. 
Everything was asleep in the house ; she 
crept along the corridor, she descended the 
staircase. 

If only the little boots are there in their 
place ; that is her great anxiety. There they 
are ! She slips them on over her satin shoes, 
she wraps herself in the great mantle. 

She hears that the rain has redoubled in 
violence. She notices one of those large um- 
brellas which the footmen use on the box in 
wet weather ; she seizes it ; she is ready ; but 
when she is ready to go she sees that the hall 
door is fastened by a great iron bar. She 
tries to raise it ; but the bolt holds fast, re- 
sists all her efforts, and the great clock in the 
hall slowly strikes five. He is starting at that 
moment. 

She will see him ! she will see him ! Her 
will is excited by these obstacles. She makes 
a great effort ; the bar yields, slips back in 
the groove. But Bettina has made a long 


scratch on her hand, from which issues a 
slender stream of blood. Bettina twists her 
handkerchief round her hand, takes her great 
umbrella, turns the key in the lock, and opens 
the door. 

At last she is out of the house ! 

The weather is frightful. The wind and 
the rain rage together. It takes five or six 
minutes to reach the terrace which looks over 
the road. Bettina darts forward courageously ; 
her head bent, hidden under her immense 
umbrella. She has already taken a few steps 
when all at once, furious, mad, blinding, a 
squall bursts upon Bettina, blows open her 
mantle, drives her along, lifts her almost from 
the ground, turns the umbrella violently inside 
out ; that is nothing, the disaster is not yet 
complete. 

Bettina has lost one of her little boots ; they 
were not practical sabots, they were only 
pretty little things for fine weather; and at 
this moment, when Bettina is desperately 
struggling against the tempest with her blue 
satin shoe half buried in the wet gravel, at 
this moment the wind bears to her the dis- 
tant echo of a trumpet-call. It is the regiment 
starting. 

12 


178 Wn^t 

Bettina makes a desperate effort, abandons 
her umbrella, finds her little boot, fastens it 
on as well as she can, and starts off running 
with a deluge descending on her head. 

At last she is in the wood ; the trees protect 
her a little. Another call, nearer this time. 
Bettina fancies she hears the rolling of the 
gun-carriages. She makes a last effort ; here 
is the terrace, she is there just in time. 

Twenty yards off she perceived the white 
horses of the trumpeters, and along the road 
she caught glimpses of the long line of guns 
and wagons vaguely rolling through the 
fog. 

She sheltered herself under one of the old 
limes which bordered the terrace. She 
watched, she waited. He is there among 
that confused mass of riders. Will she be able 
to recognize him ? And he, will he see her > 
Will any chance make him turn his head that 
way "i 

Bettina knows that he is lieutenant in the 
second battery of his regiment; she knows 
that a battery is composed of six guns and six 
ammunition wagons. Of course the Abb^ 
Constantin taught her that. Thus she must 
allow the first battery to pass, that is to say^ 


count six guns, six wagons, and then — he will 
be there. 

There he is at last, wrapped in his great 
cloak, and it is he who sees, who recognizes 
her first. A few moments before he had 
been recalling to his mind a long walk which 
he had taken with her one evening on that 
terrace, when night was falling. He raised 
his eyes, and the very spot where he remem- 
bered having seen her, was the spot where he 
found her again. He bowed, and, bare- 
headed in the rain, turning round in his saddle, 
as long as he could see her he looked at her. 
He said again to himself what he had said the 
previous evening : 

“ It is for the last time.” 

With a charming gesture of both hands she 
returned his farewell, and this gesture, repeated 
many times, brought her hands so near so near 
her lips, that one might have fancied — 

“ Ah ! ” she thought, “ if after that he does 
not understand that I love him, and does not 
forgive me my money.” 


gillie 


180 


CHAPTER IX. 

It is the tenth of August, the day which is to 
bring Jean back to Longueval. 

Bettina wakes very early, rises, and runs 
immediately to the window. The evening 
before the sky had looked threatening, heavy 
with clouds. Bettina slept but little, and all 
night prayed that it might not rain the next 
day. 

In the early morning a dense fog envelops 
the park of Longueval, the trees of which are 
hidden from view as by a curtain. But grad- 
ually the rays of the sun dissipate the mist, the 
trees become vaguely discernible through the 
vapor ; then, suddenly, the sun shines out 
brilliantly, flooding with light the park, and 
the fields beyond; and the lake where the 
black swans are disporting themselves in the 
radiant light, appears as bright as a sheet of 
polished metal. 

The weather is going to be beautiful. Bettina 
is a little superstitious. The sunshine gives 


her good hope and good courage. “ The day 
begins well, so it will finish well.” 

Mr. Scott had come some days before. 
Suzie, Bettina, and the children were waiting 
on the quay at Havre, for the arrival of his 
steamer. 

They exchanged many tender embraces, 
then Richard, addressing his sister-in-law, says 
laughingly : 

“ Well, when is the wedding to be ? ” 

“ What wedding ? ” 

“Yours.” 

“ My wedding ? ” 

“Yes, certainly.” 

“ And to whom am I going to be married ? ” 

“ To Monsieur Jean Reynaud.” 

“ Ah ! Suzie has written to you ? ” 

“ Suzie ? Not at all. Suzie has not said a 
word. It was you, Bettina, who wrote to me. 
For the last two months, all your letters have 
been occupied with this young officer.” 

“ All my letters ? ” 

“ Yes ; and you have written to me oftener 
and more at length than usual. I do not com- 
plain of that, but I do ask when you are going 
to present me with a brother-in-law.” 

He speaks jestingly, but Bettina replies : 


i 82 


“ Soon, I hope.” 

Mr. Scott perceives that the affair is serious. 
When returning in the carriage, Bettina asks 
Mr. Scott if he has kept her letters. 

“ Certainly,” he replies. 

She reads them again. It is indeed only 
with “Jean” that all these letters have been 
She finds therein related, down to the most 
trifling details, their first meeting. There 
is the portrait of Jean in the vicarage garden, 
with his straw hat and his earthenware salad- 
dish — and then it is again Monsieur Jean, 
always Monsieur Jean. 

She discovers that she has loved him much 
longer than she had suspected. 

Now it is the tenth of August. Luncheon 
is just over, and Harry and Bella are impatient. 
They know that between one and two o’clock 
the regiment must go through the village. 
They have been promised that they shall be 
taken to see the soldiers pass, and for them as 
well as for Bettina the return of the 9th 
Artillery is a great event. 

“Aunt Betty,” said Bella, — “Aunt Betty, 
•come with us.” 

“ Yes, do come,” said Harry, — “ do come ; we 
shall see our friend Jean on his big gray horse.” 


(^ 50 tt^itntttin* 183 

Bettina resists, refuses — and yet how great is 
the temptation ! 

But no, she will not go, she will not see 
Jean again till evening, when she will give 
him that decisive explanation for which she 
has been preparing herself for the last three 
weeks. 

The children hasten away with their govern- 
esses. Bettina, Suzie, and Richard go and 
sit in the park, qnite close to the castle, and as 
soon as they are established there — 

“ Suzie,” says Bettina, “ I am going to re- 
mind you to-day of your promise ; you remem- 
ber what passed between us the night of his 
departure ; we settled that if on the day of his 
return I could say to you, ‘ Suzie, I am sure 
that I love him,’ — we settled that you would 
allow me to speak frankly to him, and ask 
him if he would have me for his wife.” 

** Yes, I did promise you. But are you very 
sure ? ” 

“ Absolutely — and now the time has come 
to redeem your promise. I warn you that I 
intend to bring him to this very place ” — she 
added, smiling, “ to this seat ; and to use 
almost the same language to him that you for- 
merly used to Richard. You were successful, 


184 

Suzie, you are perfectly happy, and I — that h? 
what I wish to be.” 

“ Richard, Suzie has told you about Mon- 
sieur Reynaud ? ” 

*‘Yes, and she has told me that there is 
no man of whom she has a higher opinion, 
but — ” 

“ But she has told you that for me it would 
be a rather quiet, rather commonplace mar- 
riage. Oh, naughty sister ! Will you believe 
it, Richard, that I cannot get this fear out of 
her head ? She does not understand that be- 
fore everything I wish to love and be loved ; 
will you believe it, Richard, that only last 
week she laid a horrible trap for me ? You 
know that there exists a certain Prince 
Romanelli ? ” 

“ Yes, I know you might have been a 
princess.” 

“That would not have been immensely 
difficult, I believe. Well, one day I was so 
foolish as to say to Suzie, that, in extremity, I 
might accept the Prince Romanelli. Now, 
just imagine what she did } The Turners 
were at Trouville. Suzie arranged a little 
plot. We lunched with the Prince, but the 
result was disastrous. Accept him ! The 


185 

two hours that I passed with him I passed in 
asking myself how I could have said such 
a thing. No, Richard ; no, Suzie ; I will be 
neither princess, nor marchioness, nor coun- 
tess. My wish is to be Madame Jean Rey- 
naud ; if, however, M. Jean Reynaud will 
agree to it, and that is by no means certain.’^ 

The regiment is entering the village, and 
suddenly a burst of music, martial and joyous, 
sweeps across the space. All three remain 
silent; it is the regiment; it was Jean pass- 
ing ; the sound becomes fainter, dies away, 
and Bettina continues : 

“No, that is not certain. He loves me, 
however, and much, but without knowing well 
what I am ; I think that 1 deserve to be loved 
differently; I think that I should not cause 
him so much terror, so much fear, if he knew 
me better, and that is why I ask you to per- 
mit me to speak to him this evening freely 
from my heart.” 

“ We will allow you,” replied Richard ; 
“ you shall speak to him freely, for we know, 
both of us, Bettina, that you will never do 
anything but what is noble and generous.” 

“ At least I will try.” 

The children run up to them, they have 


i86 


seen Jean, he was quite white with dust, he 
said good-morning to them. 

“ Only,” adds Bella, “ he is not very nice, 
he did not stop to talk to us. Generally he 
stops, and this time he wouldn’t.” 

“Yes, he would,” replies Harry; “for at 
first he seemed as if he were going to — and 
then he would not. He went away.” 

“ Well, he didn’t stop, and it is so nice to 
talk to a soldier, especially when he is on 
horseback.” 

“ It is not that only, but we are very fond 
of Monsieur Jean ; if you knew, papa, how 
kind he is, and how nicely he plays with us.” 

“And what beautiful drawings he makes. 
Harry, you remember that great Punch who 
was so funny, with his stick, you know.” 

“ And the cat, there was the little cat too, 
as in the showi” 

The two children go away talking of their 
friend Jean. 

“ Decidedly,” says Mr. Scott, “ every one 
likes him in this house.” 

“ And you will be like every one else when 
you know him,” replies Bettina. 

The regiment broke into a trot along the 
high road, after leaving the village. There is 


the terrace where Bettina had been the other 
morning. Jean says to himself : 

“ Supposing she should be there.” 

He dreads and hopes it at the same time. 
He raises his head, he looks, she is not there. 

He has not seen her again, he will not see 
her again, for a long time at least. He will 
start that very evening at six o’clock for Paris ^ 
one of the head men in the War Office is in- 
terested in him ; he will try to get exchanged 
into another regiment. 

Alone at Cercottes, Jean has had time to 
reflect deeply, and this is the result of his re- 
flections. He cannot, he must not, be Bettina 
Percival’s husband. 

The men dismount at the barracks, Jean 
takes leave of his colonel, his comrades ; all 
is over. He is free, he can go. 

But he does not go yet ; he looks around 
him. . . . How happy he was three months 
ago, when he rode out of that great yard 
amidst the noise of the cannon rolling over 
the pavement of Souvigny, but how sadly he 
would ride away to-day ! Formerly his life 
was there ; where would it be now ? 

He goes home, he goes up to his own room, 
he writes to Mrs. Scott ; he tells her that his 


i88 


duties oblige him to leave immediately; he 
cannot dine at the castle, and begs Mrs. Scott 
to remember him to Miss Bettina. Bettira, 
ah ! what trouble it cost him to write that 
name ; he closes his letter ; he will send it 
directly. 

He makes his preparations for departure; 
then he will go to wish his godfather farewell. 
That is what costs him most ; he will only 
speak to him of a short absence. 

He opens one of the drawers of his bureau 
to take out some money. The first thing that 
meets his eyes is a little note on bluish paper, 
it is the only note which he has ever received 
from her. 

“ Will you have the kindness to give to the 
servant the book of which you spoke yesterday 
evening ? Perhaps it will be a little heavy for 
me, but yet I should like to try to read it. 
We shall see you to-night ; come as early as 
possible.” It is signed “ Bettina.” 

Jean reads and re-reads these few lines, but 
soon he can read them no longer, his eyes are 
dim. 

“ It is all that is left me of her,” he thinks. 

At the same moment the Abbd Constantin 
is holding conference with old Pauline ; they 


suite giltite 


189 


are making up their accounts. The financial 
situation is admirable ; more than two thou- 
sand francs in hand ! And the washes of 
Suzie and Bettina are accomplished ; there are 
no more poor in the neighborhood. His old 
servant, Pauline, has even occasional scruples 
of conscience. 

“ You see. Monsieur le Cure,” says she, 

perhaps we give them a little too much. 
Then it will be spread about in other parishes 
that here they can always find charity. And 
do you know what will happen one of these 
days? Poor people will come and settle at 
Longueval.” 

The Curd gives fifty francs to Pauline. 
She goes olf to take them to a poor man who 
had broken his arm a few days before by fall- 
ing from the top of a hay-cart. 

The Abbe Constantin remains alone in the 
vicarage. He is rather anxious. He has 
watched for the passing of the regiment ; but 
Jean only stopped for a moment ; he looked 
sad. For some time the Abbe had noticed 
that Jean had no longer the flow of good 
humor and gayety he once possessed. 

The Cure had not disturbed himself too 
much about it, believing it to be one of those 


190 

little youthful troubles which did not concern 
a poor old priest. But on this occasion Jean’s 
disturbance was very perceptible. 

“ I will come back directly,” he said to the 
Curd “ I want to speak to you.” 

He turned abruptly away. The Abbd 
Constantin had not even had time to give 
Loulou his piece of sugar, or rather his pieces 
of sugar, for he had put five or six in his 
pocket, considering that Loulou had well de- 
served this feast by ten long days’ march, and 
a score of nights passed under the open 
sky. 

Besides, since Mrs. Scott had lived at 
Longueval, Loulou had very often had several 
pieces of sugar ; the Abbd Constantin had be- 
come extravagant, prodigal ; he felt himself a 
millionaire ; the sugar for Loulou was one of 
his follies. One day even he had been on the 
point of addressing to Loulou his everlasting 
little speech : 

“This comes from the new mistresses of 
Longueval; pray for them to-night.” 

It was three o’clock w'hen Jean arrived at 
the vicarage, and the Cur^ said immediately : 

“ You told me that you wanted to speak to 
me ; what is it about ? ” 


g^lyUrie 191 

“ About something, my dear godfather, 
•which will surprise you, will grieve you — ” 

“ Grieve me ! ” 

“Yes, and which grieves me too — I have 
come to bid you farewell/’ 

“ Farewell ! You are going away ? ” 

“ Yes, I am going away.” 

“When?” 

“ To-day, in two hours.” 

“ In two hours ? But, my dear boy, we 
were going to dine at the castle to-night.” 

“ I have just written to Mrs. Scott to excuse 
me. I am positively obliged to go.” 

“ Directly ? ” 

“ Directly.” 

“ And where are you going ? ” 

“ To Paris.” 

“To Paris! Why this sudden determi- 
nation ? ” 

“ Not so very sudden. I have thought about 
it for a long time.” 

“And you have said nothing about it to 
me! Jean, something has happened. You 
are a man, and I have no longer the right to 
treat you as a child ; but you know how 
much I love you ; if you have vexations, 
troubles, why not tell them to me ? I 


192 

could perhaps advise you. Jean, why go to 
t Paris ? ” 

I did not wish to tell you ; it will give you 
I pain ; but you have the right to know. I am 

' going to Paris to ask to be exchanged iotn 

! another regiment.” 

; “ Into another regiment ! To leave Sou- 

vigny ! ” 

“ Yes, that is just it. I must leave Sou- 
^ vigny for a short time, for a little while only ; 

: but to leave Souvigny is necessary ; it is what 

I I wish above all things.” 

I “ And what about me, Jean ; do you not 
think of me ? A little while ! A little while ! 

I But that is all that remains to me of life, — a 
I little while. And during these last days that 
i I owe to the grace of God, it was my happi- 

^ ness, yes, Jean, my happiness, to feel you here, 

. near me, and now you are going away ! Jean, 

wait a little patiently, it cannot be for very 
’ long now. Wait until the good God has called 
me to Himself ; wait till I shall be gone, to 
meet there, at His side, your father and your 
mother. Do not go, Jean, do not go ! ” 

“If you love me, I love you too, and you 
know it well.” 

' “ Yes, I know it.” 






193 


“ I have just the same affection for you now 
that I had when I was quite little, when you 
took me to yourself, when you brought me up. 
My heart has not changed, will never change. 
But if duty — if honor — oblige me to go ? ” 

“ Ah ! if it is duty, if it is honor, I say noth- 
ing more, Jean ; that stands before all ! — all ! — 
all ! I have always known you a good judge 
of your duty, your honor. Go, my boy, go ; I 
ask you nothing more, I wish to know no 
more.” 

“ But I wish to tell you all,” cried Jean, van- 
quished by his emotion, “ and it is better that 
you should know all. You will stay here, you 
will return to the castle, you will see her again 
— her ! ” 

“ See her ! Who ? ” 

« Bettina ! ” 

“Bettina?” 

“ I adore her, I adore her ! ” 

“ Oh, my poor boy ! ” 

“ Pardon me for speaking to you of these 
things ; but I tell you as I would have told 
my father. And then, I have not been able 
to speak of it to any one, and it stifled me ; 
yes, it is a madness which has seized me, 
which has grown upon me little by little 

13 


194 

against my will, for you know very well — My 
God ! It was here that I began to love her. 
You know, when she came here with her sis- 
ter — the little rouleaux of a thousand francs — 
her hair fell down — and then the evening, the 
month of Mary. Then I was permitted to see 
her freely, familiarly, and you yourself spoke 
to me constantly of her. You praised her 
sweetness, her goodness. How often have 
you told me that there was no one in the world 
better than she is ! ” 

“And I thought so, and I think so still. 
And no one here knows her better than I do, 
for I alone have seen her with the poor. If 
you only knew how tender and how good she 
is ! Neither wretchedness nor suffering are 
repulsive to her. But, my dear boy, I am 
wrong to tell you all this.’' 

“ No, no, I shall see her no more, but I like 
to hear you speak of her.” 

“ In your whole life, Jean, you will never 
meet a better woman, nor one who has more 
elevated sentiments. To such a point, that 
one day — she had taken me with her in an 
open carriage, full of toys — she was taking 
these toys to a poor little sick girl, and when 
she gave them to her, to make the poor little 


thing laugh, to amuse her, she talked so 
prettily to her that I thought of you, and I 
said to myself, I remember it now, ‘ Ah, if she 
were poor ! ’ ” 

“ Ah, if she were poor ! but she is not.” 

“ Oh, no ! But what can you do, my poor 
boy ? If it gives you pain to see her, to live 
near her, above all, if it will prevent you 
suffering — go away, go — and yet, and yet — ” 

The old priest became thoughtful, let his 
head fall between his hands, and remained 
silent for some moments ; then he continued : 

“ And yet, Jean, do you know what I think ? 
I have seen a great deal of Mademoiselle 
Bettina since she came to Longueval. Well 
— when I reflect — it did not astonish me then 
that any one should be interested in you, for 
it seemed so natural — but she talked always, 
yes, always of you.” 

“ Of me .? ” 

“ Yes, of you, and of your father and mother ; 
she was curious to know how you lived. She 
begged me to explain to her what a soldier’s 
life was, the life of a true soldier who loved 
his profession, and performed his duties con- 
scientiously. ... It is extraordinary, since 
you have told me this, recollections crowd 


196 




upon me, a thousand little things collect and 
group themselves together. . . . She returned 
from Hivre day before yesterday at three 
o’clock. Well, an hour after her arrival she 
was here. And it was of you of whom she 
spoke directly. She asked if you had written 
to me, if you had not been ill, when you would 
arrive, at what hour, if the regiment would 
pass through the village.” 

“ It is useless at this moment, my dear god- 
father,” said Jean, “ to recall all these 
memories.” 

“ No, it is not useless. . . . She seemed so 
pleased, so happy even, at the thought of 
seeing you again ! She would make quite a fete 
of the dinner this evening. She would in- 
troduce you to her brother-in-law, who has 
come back. There is no one else at the 
chateau at this moment, not a single visitor. 
She insisted strongly on this point, and I 
remember her last words — she was there, on 
the threshold of the door — 

“ ‘ There will only be five of us,’ she said, 
^ you and Monsieur Jean, my sister, my 
brother-in-law, and myself.’ 

“And then she added, laughing, ‘Quite a 
family party.’ ” 


197 


“ With these words she went, she almost 
ran away. Quite a family party! Do you 
know what I think, Jean ? Do you know } 
“You must not think that, you must not.” 
“ Jean, I believe that she loves you ! ” 

“ And I believe it too.” 

“ You too ! ” 

“ When I left her, three weeks ago, she was 
so agitated, so moved ! She saw me sad and 
unhappy, she would not let me go. It was at 
the door of the chateau. I was obliged to 
tear myself, yes, literally tear myself, away. I 
should have spoken, burst out, told her all. 
After having gone a few steps I stopped and 
turned. She could no longer see me, I was 
lost in the darkness ; but I could see her 
She stood there motionless, her shoulders and 
arms bare, in the rain, her eyes fixed on the 
way by which I had gone. Perhaps I am mad 
to think that. Perhaps it was only a feeling 
of pity. But no, it was something more than 
pity, for do you know what she did the next 
morning.? She came at five o’clock in the 
most frightful weather to see me pass with the 
regiment — and then — the way she bade me 
adieu — oh, my friend, my dear old friend ! ” 

“ But then,” said the poor Cure, completely 


19S WU 

bewildered, completely at a loss, “ but then I 
do not understand you at all. If you love her, 
Jean, and if she loves you.” 

“But that is, above all, the reason why I 
must go. If it were only me, if I were certain 
that she had not perceived my love, certain 
that she had not been touched by it, I would 
stay, I would stay — for nothing but for the 
sweet joy of seeing her ; and I would love her 
from afar, without any hope, for nothing but 
the happiness of loving her. But no, she has 
understood too well, and far from discouraging 
me — that is what forces me to go.” 

“No, I do not understand it ! I know' well, 
my poor boy, we are speaking of things in 
which I am no great scholar, but you are 
both good, young, and charming ; you 
love her, she would love you, and you will 
not ! ” 

“ And her money ! her money I ” 

“What matters her money. If it is only 
that, is it because of her money that you have 
loved her ? It is rather in spite of her money. 
Your conscience, my son, would be quite at 
peace with regard to that, and that would 
suffice.” 

“ No, that would not suffice. To have a 


good opinion of one’s self is not enough ; 
that opinion must be shared by others.” 

“ Oh, Jean ! Among all who know you, who 
can doubt you ? ” 

“ Who knows ? And then there is another 
thing besides this question of money, another 
thing more serious and more grave. I am not 
the husband suited to her.” 

“ And who could be more worthy than you ? ” 

“ The question to be considered is not my 
worth ; we have to consider what she is and 
what I am, to ask what ought to be her life 
and what ought to be my life .... One 
-day, Paul — you know he has rather a blunt 
way of saying things, but that very bluntness 
often places thoughts much more clearly before 
us — we were speaking of her ; Paul did not 
suspect anything ; if he had, he is good-natured, 
he would not have spoken thus — well, he said 
to me : 

“ * What she needs is a husband who would 
be entirely devoted to her, to her alone ; a hus- 
band who would have no other care than to 
make her existence a perpetual holiday; a hus- 
band who would give himself, his whole life, in 
return for her money.’ 

“ You know me ; such a husband I cannot, 


200 


I must not be. I am a soldier, and will remain 
one. If the chances of my career sent me 
some day to a garrison in the depths of the 
Alps, or in some almost unknown village in 
Algeria, could I ask her to follow mo ? Could 
I condemn her to the life of a soldier’s wife, 
which is in some degree the life of a soldier 
himself ? Think of the life which she leads now, 
of all that luxury, of all those pleasures ! ” 

“ Yes, ” said the Abbd. “ that is more seri- 
ous than the question of money.” 

“ So serious that there is no hesitation pos- 
sible. During the three weeks that I passed 
alone in the camp I have well considered all 
that ; I have thought of nothing else, and lov- 
ing her as I do love, the reason must indeed 
be strong which shows me clearly my duty. I 
must go. I must go far, very far away, as 
far as possible. I shall suffer much, but I 
must not see her again I I must not see her 
again ! ” 

Jean sank on a chair near the fire-place. 
He remained there quiet overpowered with his 
emotion. The old priest looked at him. 

“ To see you suffer, my poor boy ! That such 
suffering should fall upon you 1 It is too cruel, 
too unjust ! ” 


Wit 201 

At that moment some one knocked gently at 
the door. 

“ Ah ! ” said the Curd, “ do not be afraid, 
Jean. I will send them away.” 

The Abbe went to the door, opened it, and 
recoiled as if before an unexpected appari- 
tion. 

It was Bettina. In a moment she had seen 
Jean, and going direct to him — 

“ You ! ” cried she. “ Oh, how glad I am ! ” 

He rose. She took both his hands in hers, 
and addressing the Curd, she said : 

“ I beg your pardon. Monsieur le Curd, for 
going to him first. I saw you yesterday, but I 
have not seen him for three whole weeks, not 
since a certain night when he left our house 
sad and suffering.” 

She still held Jean’s hands. He had neither 
power to make a movement nor to utter a 
sound. 

®‘And now,” continued Bettina, “are you 
better ? No, not yet, I can see ; still sad. Ah, 
I have done well to come 1 It was an inspira- 
tion ! However, it embarrassed me much to find 
you here. You will understand why when you 
know what I have come to ask of your god- 
father.” 


202 


She relinquished his hands, and, turning to- 
wards the Abbe, said : 

“ I have come to beg you to listen to my 
confession — yes, my confession. But do not 
go away. Monsieur Jean ; I will make my con- 
fession publicly. I am quite willing to speak 
before you, and now I think of it, it will be 
better thus. Let us sit down, shall we ? ” 

She felt herself full of confidence and daring. 
She burnt with fever, but with that fever 
which on the field of battle gives to a soldier 
ardor, heroism, and disdain of danger. The 
emotion which made Bettina’s heart beat quick- 
er than usual was a high and generous emotion. 
She said to herself : 

“ I wish to be loved ! I wish to love ! I - 
wish to be happy! I wish to make him 
happy 1 And since he cannot have the cour- 
age to do it, I must have it for both. I must 
march alone, my head high and my heart at 
ease, to the conquest of our love, to the con- 
quest of our happiness ! ” 

From her first words Bettina had gained 
over the Abbd and Jean a complete ascend- 
ancy. They let her say what she liked, they 
let her do as she liked, they felt that the hour 
was supreme ; they understood that what was 


EU gilrl)fie 205 

happening would be decisive, irrevocable, but 
neither was in a position to foresee. 

They sat down obediently, almost automat- 
ically ; they waited, they listened. Alone of 
the three, Bettina retained her composure. It 
was in a calm and even voice that she began. 

“ I must tell you first. Monsieur le Cure, to 
set your conscience quite at rest, — I must tell 
you that I am here with the consent of my 
sister and my brother-in-law. They know 
why I have come ; they know what I am going 
to do. They not only know, but they approve. 
That is settled, is it not } Well, what brings 
me here is your letter. Monsieur Jean, — that 
letter in which you tell my sister that you 
cannot dine with us this evening, and that you 
are positively obliged to leave here. This letter 
has unsettled all my plans. I had intended 
this evening — of course with the permission 
of my sister and brother-in-law — I had in- 
tended after dinner to take you into the park. 
Monsieur Jean, to seat myself with you on a 
bench ; I was childish enough to choose the 
place beforehand. There I should have deliv- 
ered a little speech, well prepared, well 
studied, almost learnt by heart, for since your 
departure I have scarcely thought of anything; 


204 




else ; I repeat it to myself from morning to 
night. That is what I had proposed to do, 
and you understand that your letter caused 
me much embarrassment. I reflected a little, 
and thought that if I addressed my little 
speech to your godfather it would be almost 
the same as if I addressed it to you. So I 
have come, Monsieur le Curd, to beg you to 
listen to me.” 

“ I will listen to you. Miss Percival,” stam- 
mered the Abbe. 

‘*I am rich. Monsieur le Curd, I am very 
rich, and, to speak frankly, I love my wealth 
very much — yes, very mu< 



luxury which surrounds 


acknowledge, — this is a confession, — is by no 
means disagreeable to me. My excuse is that 
I am still very young ; it will perhaps pass as 
I grow older, but of that I am not very sure. 
I have another excuse : it is, that if I love 
money a little for the pleasure it procures me, 
I love it still more for the good which it allows 
me to do. I love it — selfishly, if you like— for 
the joy of giving ; but I think that my fortune 
is not very badly placed in my hands. Well, 
Monsieur le Curd, in the same way that you 
have the care of souls, it seems that I have 


205 


the care of money. I have always thought, ‘ I 
wish, above all things, that my husband should 
be worthy of sharing this great fortune. I 
wish to be very sure that he will make a good 
use of it with me while I am here, and after 
me if I must leave this world first.’ I thought 
of another thing ; I thought, ‘ He who will be 
my husband must be some one I can love ! ’ 
And now, Monsieur le Cure, this is where my 
confession really begins. There is a man 
who for the last two months has done all he 
can to conceal from me that he loves me, but 
I do not doubt that this man loves me. . . . 
You do love me, Jean ? ” 

“ Yes,” said Jean, in a low voice, his eyes 
cast down, looking like a criminal, “ I do love 
you ! ” 

“ I knew it very well, but I wanted to hear 
you say it; and now, I entreat you, do not 
utter a single word. Any words of yours 
would be useless, would disturb me, would 
prevent me from going straight to my aim, 
and telling you what I positively intend to say. 
Promise me to stay there, sitting still, without 
moving, without speaking. You promise 
me?” 

I promise you.” 


2o6 


Bettina, as she went on speaking, began to 
lose a little of her confidence ; her voice 
trembled slightly. She continued, however, 
with a gayety that was a little forced. 

“ Monsieur le Cure, I do not blame you 
for what has happened, yet all this is a little 
your fault.” 

“ My fault ! ” 

“ Ah ! do not speak, not even you. Yes, I 
repeat it, your fault. ... I am certain that 
you have spoken well of me to Jean, nuiphtoo 
well. Perhaps without that he would not have 
thought — And at the same time, you have 
spoken very well of him to me. Not too well 
— no, no — but yet very well ! Then I had sa 
much confidence in you that I began to look 
at him, and examine him with a little more at- 
tention. I began to compare him with those 
who during the last year, had asked my hand. 
It seemed to me that he was in every respect 
superior to them. 

“ At last it happened on a certain day, or 
rather on a certain evening — three weeks ago, 
the evening before you left here, Jean — I dis- 
covered that I loved you. ... Yes, Jean, I 
love you ! . . . I entreat you, do not speak ^ 
stay where you are ; do not come near me. 


207 


Wixt 

“ Before I came here I thought I had sup- 
plied myself with a good stock of courage, but 
you see I have no longer my fine composure 
of a minute ago. But I have still something to 
tell you, and the most important of all. Jean, 
listen to me carefully ; I do not wish for a re- 
ply torn from you in your emotion ; I know 
that you love me. If you marry me, I do not 
wish it to be only for love ; I wish it to be also 
for reasons. During the fortnight before you 
left here, you took so much pains to avoid me, 
to escape any conversation, that I have not 
been able to show myself to you as I am. 
Perhaps there are in me certain qualities which 
you do not suspect. . . . 

“Jean, I know what you are, I know to 
what I should bind myself in marrying you, and 
I would be for you not only the loving and 
tender woman, but the courageous and con- 
stant wife. I know your entire life ; your god- 
father has related it to me. I know why you 
became a soldier I know what duties, what 
sacrifices, the future may demand from you. 
Jean, do not suppose that I will turn you 
from any of these duties, from any of these 
sacrifices. If I could be disappointed with 
you for anything, it would be, perhaps, for this 


2o8 


thought, — oh ! you must have had it, — that 
I should wish you free, and quite my own, 
that I should ask you to abandon your career. 
Never ! never ! Understand well, I will never 
ask such a thing of you. . . . 

“ A young girl whom I know did that when 
she married, and she did wrong. I love you, 
and I wish you to be just what yon^are. It is 
because you live differently from, and better 
than, those who have before desired me for a 
wife, that I desire you for a husband. I 
should love you less — perhaps I should not 
love you at all, though that would be very 
difficult — if you were to begin to live as all 
those live whom I would not have. When 
I can follow you, I will follow you ; wherever 
you are will be my duty, wherever you are will 
be my happiness. And if the day comes 
when you cannot take me, the day when you 
must go alone, — well, Jean, on that day I 
promise you to be brave, and not take your 
courage from you. 

“ And now. Monsieur le Cure, it is not to 
him, it is to you that I am speaking : I want 
you to answer me, not him. Tell me, ... if 
he loves me, and feels me worthy of his love, 
would it be just to make me expiate so severely 


Sflw gkbltt (Junjitaatitt. 209 

the fortune that I possess ! Tell me should he 
not agree to be my husband ? ** 

“ Jean,” said the old priest gravely, “ marry 
her. It is your duty, and it will be your hap- 
piness ! ” 

Jean approached Bettina, took her in his 
arms, and pressed upon her brow the first 
kiss. 

Bettina gentle freed herself, and addressing 
the Abbe said : 

“And now. Monsieur T Abbe, I have still 
one thing to ask you. I wish — I wish — ” 

“You wish?” 

“ Pray, Monsieur le Curd, kiss me too.” 

The old priest kissed her paternally on both 
cheeks, and then Bettina continued : 

“You have often told me. Monsieur le Curd, 
that Jean was almost like your own son, and I 
shall be almost like your own daughter, shall I 
not ? So you will have two children, that is 
all.” 


A month after, on the 12th of September, at 
midday, Bettina, in the simplest of wedding 
dresses, entered the church of Longueval 
while, placed behind the altar, the trumpets of 


210 


the 9th Artillery rang joyously through the 
arches of the old church, 

Nancy Turner had begged for the honor of 
playing the organ on this solemn occasion, 
for the poor little harmonium Wd disappeared ; 
an organ with resplendent pipes rose in the 
gallery of the church — it was Miss Percival’s 
wedding present to the Abb^ Constantin. 

The old Curd said mass, Jean and Bettina 
knelt before him, he pronounced the Bene- 
diction, and then remained for some moments 
in prayer his arms extended, calling down 
with his whole soul the blessing of Heaven on 
his two children. 

Then floated from the organ the same revery 
of Chopin’s which Bettina had played the first 
time that she had entered that village church, 
where was to be consecrated the happiness of 
her life. 

And this time it was Bettina who wept. 


THE END. 


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